Scars

• Samantha Wetherspoon, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2013

Hundreds of lines mar our skin
Long, short, fat and thin.
They span arms, shade sides and divide legs
Coveted and cursed by societal dregs.

Some are just lines, others are holes
Splitting skin that’ll now never be whole.
We are lucky for those deep trenches
Better to have than the red speed bump benches.

They tell our stories and our lives.
The red and purple tell the hard times
And the white ones show you when we felt guilt
Though depth suggests we ran the hilt.

We didn’t want to hurt anyone
Just wanted to feel something for once
But our scars remain, they make us ugly
We stow them under clothes, excuses, smuggling.

I didn’t want to hurt anyone
Just wanted to feel something just once
But my scars remain, they make me ugly,
I hide and lie, but I know that I am struggling.