I didn't see them at first.
It wasn't until I took off your shirt,
that I saw them.

The soft pink skin slightly raised above the rest,
The marks are long,
horizontal, as they
cross
your
back.

The jagged edges pucker,
blending into your body.

You chalk it up to childhood insecurites,

I run my fingers along the marks.

You tell me they are just the effects,
of a
rounded boy.

I kiss them.

You don't know how beautiful they are.
The scars that paint your skin.

You're pain is beautiful,
because they show you,
how far
you've
come.

I think you're beautiful,
but tradgically so.