sometimes we cannot hide the scars internal and external they litter our skin; our minds tiny little marks of imperfection proof that we have truly lived

scars are something that shows we are alive that this is real they are not horrid imperfections, perhaps but nothing real is ever perfect

scars are a story written out on skin each with a tale of their own they are not something to be ashamed of hidden, despised scars are real and they remind us that we are human

they mark us as people fighters, soldiers, with countless ones hidden in shame, instead of shown with honor the clumsy or the unfortunate the small little things on us these set us apart from stone

scars are a reminder of our past stories of our lives and they should not be looked down on scars tell tales of survival and that is a true marvel