Marked by Life
Our veins are veins in leaves,
and even if you hate them,
without them, the world would wither.
Our scars are maps of storms we survived,
and even if you wish they weren’t there,
they trace the paths that made us strong.
Our tears are rain,
and even if they fall too freely,
they flow through the rivers that make the earth bloom.
Our freckles are the speckled moon,
and even if you wish they would vanish,
the night would be empty without them.
Our hair is a field of wild grass,
sometimes tangled, sometimes soft,
and even if you fight it,
it grows freely, reaching for light,
holding the small storms and sunlight of your life.
Our hands are rough,
our nails chipped, our knuckles bent,
and even if you hide them,
they build, they hold, they reach.
Our lips are dry,
chapped, sometimes trembling,
and even if you hate them,
they speak our truth, carry our laughter, and taste life.
Our eyes bear the weight of endless nights,
the bags under them formed by studying, by striving, by thinking too much,
and even if you see only fatigue,
they have witnessed dreams, hope, and all the worlds you’ve imagined.
They say our bodies are too thin, too fat, too soft, too strong,
and even if the world tells us to change, to cut, to sculpt, to mask with plastic,
we do not need to.
They move, they hold, they love, they are home.
We are perfect..
Every vein, scar, tear, freckle, strand, hand, lip, eye, and body
is exactly what makes us alive.
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