I have scars that have stayed longer than people ever did,
they tell wonderful stories, stories that these people never even cared to dig out.
My anecdotes were just peered into, by sliding the lid,
and all that the peering did, was put me in a shadow of doubt.
Some of them told me they loved me despite of my zig-zag bits,
some of them made me feel beautiful even when I felt like I was breaking apart.
Some of them let me know how it’s enough to just exist,
and some just stayed, without any questions or judgements, with my broken heart.
Each of them always came with a price,
some with pain, some with truth, and some seemed to be a total surprise;
they reminded me about the battlefields and the wars,
and guided my soul to a country far away scattered among the stars.
These tattoo’s of triumph spoke to me in a hundred different scripts,
The veil of silence is what they tore apart and ripped,
disclosing an abundance of warrior markings,
and sticking to me, fading, but promising a forever, with their deep dark wings.
