My scars bear the beauty of my story…
Wounds inflicted by others,
just as broken as I,
Knit back together by threads of Hope and irrational Love.
I tried, for too long, to keep them hidden, ashamed people might see what lie beneath…
Afraid they wouldn’t stay.
I covered them up in smiles and over-exuberant misdirection. In humor and many weary years, dancing alone, with their weight in shadows.
I masked them in prettier tales, in what-if’s and isolating lies.
I cloaked them in supposed submission and milder words, easier to swallow by “perfect” listening ears.
After all, I’d been bred to believe…
It’s a shame to be found weak and bleeding.
In my pride, I believed the lie that broken things belong in shadow.
In my shame, I believed the lie that their stories held no power for good, that they could never inspire, that their pain was better left untold…
that I would never be free.
Mercifully, not all were fooled…
There were those gifted with braver eyes and wiser hearts.
These were the tools of my salvation, the vessels that harbored my hope. They were Light, messengers of irrational Love. They were the champions of my scars. They were my reminder of the Truth….
A broken thing redeemed,
Thread together by Hope and Irrational Love, is, in fact,
The most powerful story of all.