I feel that it's important to note, we don't all wear our scars on our skin.
We all battle dragons, and they come in all sizes and they leave all sorts of messes. We rot inside with our built-up bitterness. We hold tight to our warped mirror images, our wishes for ribs and collar bones and leg gaps and shadowless existence. We tell ourselves we'll never be good enough for love, or healthier love at least. We're left with what they did to us, how they broke our bodies or our spirits, with abusive hands and lips. We wonder why our feelings flutter the way they do, why we're different, why that's wrong. We have bad nights and days and showers and car rides home. We stare at the ruins of our temples and wonder what to do next, wonder why we burned them out in the first place. We're sick, or sad, or both. We have mistakes and aches and all of them mean as much as the others; we're all just people, connected, in the end.
We have scars on our hearts.
But it's not the scars that matter, it's where we go from there, and whether or not we let them keep us from happiness.
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