Earlier today I counted
the number of marks I need to conceal
From face to hands to leg
I counted sixteen.
If I cleanse my body, would my imperfections fade away
Can I attain the standards of beauty, my thoughts pull away
can I be part of this cruel society, my mind sways
the standards of beauty, daunting my way.
I have sixteen reasons to ponder on
sixteen ghosts that make me feel insecure
Examining myself in the lens sixteen times each day
sobbing and trying to hide the insecurities away.
Maybe I am a torn portrait
thousands of random scribbles all over the surface
Lend me an ethereal paintbrush.
To feel charmed by my image.
Would I finally be really pure
if I subjected my face to more of uncalled cream
my marks, pimples, and dirt concealed away
will I finally look clean?
Behind the façade is an incompetent
and fragile me
Mysteries wrapped in dilemmas,
that I am unable to foresee.
Yet, these propagandists of peer
can never be exchanged for pride
Its the freedom I seek,
it is not within my sight.
I have battled through demons.
from the past and present
drove past the knife's edge
haunted by the veil of silence.
So, maybe there is a purpose why scars last a lifelong.
with the purpose of reflecting experiences and tales
I was crafted in the fiercest embers and am the toughest steel.
And they are signs of my boldness.
My marks are a constant reminder
My marks are a constant reminder
that I am
Beautiful
And My Scars Define Me
Too gorgeous to feel ashamed.
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