Ever since I’ve removed my vest and been watching my scars under my chest lighten up, I’ve been really paying attention to all the other scars I have on me.
I’ve talked about the ones on my shoulders and the ones on my chest (pre-surgery) in my poem “Touch Me Like I’m Real,” I have random ones from living life (me and boxes/paper are not friends) and now I have a few more from surgery (from the drains and the actual surgery). And literally I tell myself every time I look in the mirror, “Dude you look like a War Hero.”
Ma wants me to put aloe vera gel (which is great for keloids – my keloids from surgery have gone away) or something to help get rid of the scars (mostly the ones on my shoulders). And I told Ma, “I liked them Ma.” She said, “You like them?!” and I’m like “Yea I do.” She doesn’t really understand, nor will some other people.
But this is how I look at my scars. For Me, they are reminders of what I had to fight (and some cases still do) inside of myself and how I took that fight and waged it on my skin. I fought and did damage and almost let the part of myself that wanted to destroy me win. But I didn’t. I have the scares to remind me repeatedly never let me wage that war again. And before I leave the mirror, I always I think to myself,
“I Am a War Hero. I Won the War Against Myself”