Crowned In Scars

I used to hide my scars like bad grades,

pull sleeves down, change the subject,

laugh too loud

So nobody noticed where I’ve been.

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There’s one on my knee

from a staircase I fell on

running too fast in socks

Not tragedy, just proof I was alive.

﹁﹂

There’s one on my heart, too,

though you can’t see it,

But it pulls sometimes

When a song hits the wrong memory.

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People love “healing”

when it’s clean and inspirational,

when it fits in captions

and doesn’t mention the ugly parts.

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But my story has splinters.

It has hospital-light glare,

and late-night shaking,

and “I’m fine” said through teeth.

﹁﹂

Still look at me.

I learned how to get up

without applause,

without a hand offered,

without a map.

﹁﹂

My scars aren’t shame.

They’re a language,

a rough alphabet on my skin

spelling: survived, survived, survived.

﹁﹂

Sometimes I touch them gently

like counting rosary beads,

not for forgiveness

for remembrance.

﹁﹂

If I wear anything now,

It’s not a crown of gold.

It’s this

the proof of pain

turned into knowing.