Skin deep scars were easy to shoulder,
while the deeper ones each hardened my heart.
Life-long wounds still wept and smouldered,
carving permanent paths.

Hidden cuts wouldn't stop itching,
and beneath my smile shadows kept screaming.
Treacherous memories would sting
and bite right through my once thick skin
then slowly burrow, refusing to die,
spreading their cured lies ...

The scars are mine, the wounds are real,
the memories are with me, still
I was the haunted boy, the wild child.
I was the son loved, beaten, reviled.  
I was the dreamer. I was the drama.
I was the fiction that made me me......
--
That was then, but now see,
I have a new writing team,
a change in narrative, a brand new me,
a departure from my past continuity.

Now I have a team-up.
Now I have back-up.
And in this story arch,
I get a power-up,
one new ability:
His power to HEAL ME!