Beneath the calm, the marks remain,

Lines that trace my silent pain.

Invisible to those who see,

Carving out what’s left of me.

A thousand cuts, yet here I stand,

Reminders from a scarred hand.

The weight of words we never said,

Still painted in a muted red.

You see the face, but not the seams,

Each thread a stitch of fractured dreams.

I carry what the past has taught,

Lessons burned but never lost.

These unseen scars, they make me whole,

Pieces stitched within my soul.

Faint and strong, they hold me here,

Lines of strength that reappear.

The weight of scars, they ground and lift,

Carving out my hidden gift.

A heart that bends but won’t unwind,

Bound by marks that fade with time.

In the dark, they breathe anew,

Memories etched in shades of blue.

Stories buried deep in bones,

Shaping truths I walk alone.

The traces that won’t fade away,

My quiet guides from day to day.

With every line, a past I find,

In cuts that healed but left their sign.

Each scar, a testament to pain,

Proof of life through loss and gain.

They’re woven tight, I let them show,

A silent map of where I’ll go.

In every mark, a piece of grace,

Written in the paths I trace.

I wear these scars and find my way,

Holding them through night and day.