I say "Fight me," too much,
For someone who flinches at loud noises
Or motions that are too quick
Or too close to my face.

I'm much too confident in my abilities
To withstand things,
For someone who breaks into tears
At truths that are too true.

I'm much too whole
For a person made of scars.

And sometimes I'm astonished,
That not all of them show through my skin
All the time.

I was once told that
It's the journey you have to depart to arrive.

I never really quite understood.

But it's that you have to let go of the past
In order to be fully present.

I still struggle with that,
But I'm getting there.

There are scars beneath my skin
That hurt when it's too cold
Or when it rains.
They sent me into shivers,
With shaking hands and a shaking voice.