Last month.
My mother told me.
On our way to my first checkup for my meds.
When I relapsed.
She told me that my cuts will turn to scars.
I realized.
My battle wounds are here to stay.
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My battle wounds tell a story,
A story of betrayal.
A story of being led on.
A story of drunk parents.
A story of pain.
A story of choosing to almost give into dying.
A story of continuing to move on.
A story of my life.