The scars on my body,
are my stories.
My memories.
My weakness.
My strength.
Mine only for me to know and tell.
I have one visible to you,
the one you struck upon my heart.
Its deep and ragged.
It’s fresh and ******.
It finally scabs over.
I pick at it once again,
wanting you to see my heart.
Waiting for you to fix me.
But as you told me,
You can’t fix something,
that’s been broken,
far to many times.