(Inspired by Flaws by Bastille)

I have a lot of scars.

Some of them are visible with the naked eye. Others can’t be seen with the most expensive microscope.

Some are from surgeries where joints were rebuilt or bad bits were removed. Others are from surgeries filled with probes and cameras in a search for answers.

Some are from accidents, like the one that left me with glass in my face (removed as one of the aforementioned “bad bits”).

Others are from stupid nights I don’t remember, save for the keloid left as a souvenir.

Some are from fights I’ve won. Others from fights I’ve lost.

Some are from fights with no opponent other than myself.

Some are self inflicted in moments of despair.

Others were put on me by hands (and belts) stronger than my own.

Some hurt as they struck my skin. Others hurt more as they struck my heart.

Some are from work. Others from play.

Some are from childhood mishaps, like slipping in the tub. Others I don’t even remember how they got there, but they seemed to always be a part of me.

Some look like other things, like when you stare at clouds as a child. Others are just what they seem to be.

But the sum of them make up me, scarred and imperfect in every way…and I’m beginning to learn that that’s okay.


©2016 Erica Schultz

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