Tint of Scars

When I look at the ridges and mountains on my arm,

I see that there is a single scar

I don't know why its still there, it's apart of my image

Veins that pulse below the surface are unaffected

Scars are raised, hues of brown, and tinted dark

They all mend to the damage and keep flowing with it's ark

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The scar is from when I burned myself getting ready

With curls that fell, I had to look pretty

Even when I wanted to feel blue and brand new

The fading green date I had wanted wasn't you

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Rubbing my hands over tan pigmentation

I have areas of red and visible limitations

I don't feel smooth on most days, or toned like a model

Instead I hold a strange skin ensemble

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There are parts of me that are messily sewn together

After all, colors of skin are never chosen by the wearer

I was white when I felt confident,

But I turned purple when I had enough of it

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Although I wish I could shed patches of bumps and flaws

There is no one else on Earth with the same stupid monologue

Its the same variations of shades, but differently placed

There are no cookie cutter humans, no outline is retraced

Having sameness, to me, doesn't exist

I am learning to love my body, to continue to resist.