He kisses the scar from that day,
When fear and pain collided,
And we were alone, together.

He said it was beautiful:
A small scar,
From a big scare;
A reassurance that we were ok.

He passed his fingers lightly,
As if they were, too, afraid,
And leaned in for a tender kiss.

My navel has been home to many things.
Butterflies and boiling acid,
Bubbling over and out my mouth.

It had known his rough calloused palms,
The lightness of his tongue,
The red, red, red pain.

It was in comfort now,
Warm, with his little butterfly kisses,
Tracing petals around the wound.

The self consciousness blushed pink,
My hand rushed to cover the scar,
"No, you are beautiful."

My scars mean I overcame.
I continue to live and grow.
I am beautiful despite all.