I spent months replacing old scars with new, nearly identical ones
(no longer self inflicted, at least)
and I spent hours looking in the mirror at the slight bulge of my stomach and the two mountains I called my hips
thinking
   "oh, these are such a lovely addition to my skin. oh, I wish they would last."
             and I wanted
nothing more but the constant reminder that I, yes I, was something worth destroying, because
to destroy something means that something was once worth looking at and deciding to
act.