scars

our scars,
memories etched into our skin
with a story for each.

some gentle, like brushstrokes
reminding us of joy and laughter
from when we were young,
falling and getting back up.

others more rough,
irregular lines we’d rather forget
that sting with memories
of nights we thought we wouldn’t make it.

and then there are the ones unseen,
invisible to all but ourselves
within fractures of our mind.

one by one,
these helped weave who we are.

good or bad,
they never leave-
a map leading down a road with no end
but countless stories of survival.