Scars are what I'm made up of.
Some are visible and some are not.
Some were given,
Some were made by me.
Some faded with time from my skin,
but remained engraved in my heart.
Some are still there,
reminding me that no one cares...
Some are telling me,
why I don't belong here...
Some were of knives,
some of hands...
Some were deeper
with the sharpest tool,
of words.
Scars, everyone feels them as
black stains on white,
craters in the moon,
spots on beauty.
But to me, they are the reason I survived.
Maybe I wouldn't have been who I am today without them.
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Author:
Antra Sharma (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 12th, 2026 08:58
- Comment from author about the poem: Some were given, some were made by me...
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
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- In collections: The girl behind the strength.
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Comments3
My friend, I carry marks that others will never see, and I understand how survival becomes woven into identity. We never needed the pain, but our endurance still deserves honor. This spoke deeply, antra! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Yes thank you for your lovely comment! 🤍
Scars make one's skin tougher. Some see them as disfigurement others as marks of beauty. I see them as marks of toughness. Well written
Yes thank you!
My pleasure
Excellent poem!
Thank you keeping reading!
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