Marks of a survivor

Each scar has a name, etched into my skin— White lines barely visible on my pale arms. There’s one for every heartbreak I ever got, One for each battle I silently fought, One for all the wrongdoings I had, For every time my thoughts turned bad. Each scar holds a memory, a ghost from the past, Every cut done silently, hidden away after every tragedy. The lines on my arms fade each day, But the memories behind them refuse to go away. Maybe these scars are signs of a warrior, Signs of strength and resilience, Marks of my unwavering diligence. I don’t want the scars to fade— Maybe I’ll fade with them, The signs of power, The signs of a survivor Slipping quietly away. My scars are a part of me; Without them, who will I be? Just someone who went through hardship With nothing left to show for it.