I'll count the scars
Scattered across my hands and arms
And hips and stomach
Instead of the stars that drift across
The sky.

I'll count the scars I have,
Most caused by me,
Some caused by others,
And I'll dream of a time
I was a clean slate,
A time I was better than I am now,
And I'll get better.
I promise I'm getting better.

And if your lips
Can grace my scars,
Then maybe I can have the nerve
To count stars
Instead of scars.