You say
You want to be like me. To feel like me. I know it's a lie. When you fall, When your beauty is ripped from your flesh When your body is crippled by scars, It is your weakness. I am not as lucky. I have no choice. I must see my scars as My strength. Not beauty. Not alluring. Not romantic. They cannot be fixed by anyone, Especially not you. If you wanted to be like me, If you stayed awake at night And hoped And dreamed And found yourself in my place during those moments You would take notice of the black Pouring from my wounds No red in sight. You would see that my scars make Me a warrior. Not a failure. And maybe, Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Care enough about me To not be like me. ~Margo (Written in 2013, revised 2015)
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December 2019
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