Scars

My scars are not beautiful

They are jagged white lines decorating my body with disdain

A screaming testimony to the past

When hating myself was easier than breathing

When killing myself was my delusional daydream

When more pain, more blood, more suffering was my relief

These bits and pieces of torn open skin are not a sign of my triumph over mental illness

They are a sign of my weakness

My failure to stay strong against the demons destroying my very soul

I am not proud of these signs of my struggle

I am proud of my smile

My laugh

My heart;

That despite the hauntingly horrible trials I faced

They survived above all else

My scars are not beautiful,

But I am.