They will tell you
Those are battle scars,
Spots of a leopard, stripes of a tiger;
They will fill your head with rubbish
And tell you
It is a sign of survival,
Of life. And they will judge you
If you disagree and think it ugly.
They will tell you it marks the days
Of your life. They will tell you
To be proud of the scars
And marks and blemishes.
And you can’t question them,
You can’t ask
Who gave them the right
To tell you what to think
Of your own body? And if you dare
Dislike the very humanness of yourself
And the canvas of skin
It is painted on, if you see yourself
Simply as a person
And not the warrior goddess
Or tigress or survivor
That they have collectively decided
You have to be,
They will be insane.
But to you,
Is it not just a little skin?
