Scar Tissue
In the past 8 months, I’ve acquired more scars on my body than I have in my lifetime. These may fade with time but they’ll always be there.
Not that I’m a masochist but I enjoy these scars being there. I can look over my body and as my eyes float from one scar to another, I feel challenged.
It feels like I was in a battle and I emerged victorious though not with these reminders that I had to fight hard to get by.
The feeling of being challenged is glorious. You want to rise up to meet the dare and crush it.
Even now, I look at the scar on my forehead, the scars on my arms, the one on my back and I remember the different sorts of pain I felt and who it was that I went to when I got hurt. It says a lot about my dependence on others.
When I got my forehead busted open, I stood out in the driveway with blood pouring to the ground. I had sent my cousin inside to get my mum because I didn’t want to mar the carpets with my blood. Yet, the person who I wanted to come help me was my mum.
When I got the scar on my back, my whole family rallied around me. In the midst of it all, there was my mum. The first person I went to when I felt the pains start. She was the light when I needed help. My father was the star leading me towards independence.
When I got hurt from the car, I went to no one. I went home and I washed my hands and cleansed my arm. That was all I needed.
Injuries everywhere… cuts on my arms and knuckles, scars on my arms, body, legs and face. I never was the clumsy one who got hurt needlessly. I guess all these injuries serve a purpose.
All that’s left is a scar across an eye. A scar to represent how I see what the world’s become? Not really. I just think it’ll look cool.
Not that I’m a masochist but I enjoy these scars being there. I can look over my body and as my eyes float from one scar to another, I feel challenged.
It feels like I was in a battle and I emerged victorious though not with these reminders that I had to fight hard to get by.
The feeling of being challenged is glorious. You want to rise up to meet the dare and crush it.
Even now, I look at the scar on my forehead, the scars on my arms, the one on my back and I remember the different sorts of pain I felt and who it was that I went to when I got hurt. It says a lot about my dependence on others.
When I got my forehead busted open, I stood out in the driveway with blood pouring to the ground. I had sent my cousin inside to get my mum because I didn’t want to mar the carpets with my blood. Yet, the person who I wanted to come help me was my mum.
When I got the scar on my back, my whole family rallied around me. In the midst of it all, there was my mum. The first person I went to when I felt the pains start. She was the light when I needed help. My father was the star leading me towards independence.
When I got hurt from the car, I went to no one. I went home and I washed my hands and cleansed my arm. That was all I needed.
Injuries everywhere… cuts on my arms and knuckles, scars on my arms, body, legs and face. I never was the clumsy one who got hurt needlessly. I guess all these injuries serve a purpose.
All that’s left is a scar across an eye. A scar to represent how I see what the world’s become? Not really. I just think it’ll look cool.
