Painted on the skin
Are marks of white so thin.
Each has its own story,
None of them worthy of glory.

My skin is soft like roses
Since the skin that bled now closes.
In my heart are open wounds
Bleeding out, turning my body into a prune.

I'm placing my hand over the cut
To stop the flow and to keep my feelings tucked.
But some days I cannot prevent the flow,
And that's okay, because at times we all must let go.

The scabs on my skin and bone
Have no reason to leave me alone,
Because the pain that once was there
Is now a story I can share.

Beauty has come from the darkest parts of my thoughts
And many lessons I have been taught.
No more hiding the ugly things inside of me
Because ugly we don't have to be.

The skin of our body and the heart inside
Is more beautiful than we ourselves can find.
You have bled through the days of your life,
But now it is time to bury the knife.

Show your scars and let them shine,
Because the past is not how you are defined.
They make you who you decide to be.

And you

Are

Free.