Scars

I have scars in all the wrong places.
 i have scars,

         and scars,

                     and scars,

and i claw desperately at imperfections on the outside

because i can't reach the ones that matter with my hands

i want to tear away my skin and free myself.

   it's called a rib cage but maybe it's the

                                  other
                              way

                    around

    because my heart is raw and bloody in my chest

and that's the only thing that feels real.

i want to take my teeth out one by one, dull the blades that rip me until I bleed. raising a knife against yourself isn't always fatal

          they warn you about the scars you leave behind when you want to leave it all behind.

but sometimes you leave scars

and scars

and scars

and you want to stay-

      i'm ashamed of my scars because they're insecurity made real, flesh and bone

i claw and tear to desperately undo the parts of me that are
                                           small enough to change

and they heal the best they can.

scars, scabbed over, skin in layers
 a shield for my protection.

keeping safe the parts of me that are tender, that i make tender because they're the ones i can bear to touch

my body does all it can, to fix what i've broken, to have gash and cut made whole.

i want to say

i'm sorry,

because it works so hard to keep me together,

but i'm not sorry. because it's the closest i'll ever get

to perfect.