Look at my body. See my body.
Do you see all the scars?

The ones from when I was a little girl
and fell off my bike,
when I picked at my chicken pox,
when I walked through home depot just a little wrong.

The ones from when I was a grown up little girl
and fell down when running in the woods,
when I picked at my pimples and scabs,
when I walked and ran into the door just a little wrong.

The ones from when I was a grown up hurt, little girl
and carved a heart into my arm,
drew a checkerboard on my thigh,
wrote words into my stomach.

Every single scar on my body tells a story.
Some are happy and playful about a little girl who liked to wear dresses.
While others are sad and depressing about a grown up girl who
felt too much pain.