Burns, Marks, and Scars.

My scars do not deceive your eyes

They are wounds from a fight I once fought

That I won, I conquered, I survived

These scars are apart of me, something I was once ashamed of and every once and A while I still feel that struggle but then I realize who I am.

I am a beautiful, I am intelligent, I am a woman, a beautiful black woman.

My scars represent a shield, the shield that I used to protect my mother from the peak of death that stared her so distinctively in her eyes.

Even at two years old I could not stand by and watch her as she fought for both of us with the small amount of life & fight she had to give.

I remember as a child going out in public and crossing my arms so that others wouldn’t stare at me. I thought to myself, why do I feel the need to hide my skin from others.

It was just the way others made me feel.

At 12 years old I would wear long sleeves to school, even on hot summer days.

Just hoping that if no one could see my scars people would forget they were there.

Maybe I would be normal for just one day

Maybe no one would tease me for scars that I could not control

Maybe the boy I liked would talk to me and not look past me or ask for one of the numbers of my friends

But what is normal? The definition of normal is conforming to a standard, IE usual, typical

Who actually came up with normal?

Normal is what society has created it to be.

Society has created normal to be clear skin with no scars, no discoloration, perfect teeth, long hair, big butts and a chest so big that you can’t even see your feet when you look down.

Why can’t normal just be who you are?

Why does society look at burns, marks and scars on miscellaneous body parts as ugly or scary?

To the point where I am treated with extreme indifference

To the point where I am stared at to the point where I know what they are thinking

Don’t stare at me, don’t make me feel like less of a person.

The fact of the matter is I am HUMAN, I am a person that eats, speaks, walks and bleeds the same as any other human being.

My scars do make me look different from others but how does that make others feel as though I am not equal.

I used to feel as though I was beneath others.

Even though I was so beautiful.

I had hair that reached the middle of my back.

That flowed so gently when the wind blew

I had a gap that you could see right through but it made my smile so bright

I was really skinny but it fit me because I am ME!

I look back and I can’t believe that I had such ugly thoughts.

To think that I myself the person that I looked at in the mirror every morning was ugly.

To think that one day the little girl I once was wanted to die.

Because I knew and still know god and I knew that he would accept me, my burns marks and scars on all my miscellaneous body parts.

I knew I would be safe with him and that no one could bully me, no one would stare at me. No judgement would be passed what so ever.

I never had the courage to attempt to take my own life because I knew how much my family loved me and how hurt they would be if I were too take my own life.

I felt every bit of hurt that my mom felt about the day of our accident that change our lives forever, I feel it to this day.

So who am I do take my own life and add on to the pain she already carries.

What about my little brother that looks up to me, he doesn’t see my scars. He just sees his big sister that he wants to do everything with. Who will do everything with him if I’m gone?

I couldn’t leave my family with the burden of thinking that I took my own life due to a fault of there own because it was far from that .

The thoughts I had were apart of my own battle, no matter how many times I was told I was beautiful it didn’t matter.

It was a mental fight that no one could battle but myself. It was a fight that some people aren’t strong enough to withstand.

But I did it, I figured out my own way to battle the demons that stood on both my shoulders and inside of my mind. I figured if I survived a fire, nothing that the devil tried to do to stop me from striving and succeeding and being the best version of myself that I possibly could would ever stop me.

I’ve never admitted this but I remember wishing a car would run me over or maybe a stray bullet would hit me because as I said before I never had the courage to take my own life but I really wanted someone else to do it.

To my parents please don’t feel as though I still look at myself in this light, know that I was young and I was in the center of a battle with my mind, my thoughts, and reality. I know that I am a beautiful, educated, black woman.

With scars that represent a shield that I once used to protect my mother, and that I now use to protect others. My burns, marks, and scars no longer define me, they never did.

They only defined me in the eyes of society because some people are just to ignorant to restrain themselves from staring at my scars rather than getting to know me as a person.

Too ignorant to broaden there vocabulary and let kind words spill out of there mouths and surround with me joy and acceptance. Instead of shaming me with cruel words and wrapping there arms that contain pain that was passed down from there home life around me as if my life and my feelings didn’t matter.

You know...I remember at 12 years old, I was in middle school. I remember walking to art class thinking wow, not once person had mentioned my burns and the day was almost over. Standing outside my class was a boy that wasn’t ugly on the outside but his insides made him look so disgusting that i felt sick when approaching him.

He said “you look cute today” I said thank you and continued to walk into class. He stopped me in my tracks as I thought to myself, YES. I made it!

He looked me dead in my eyes and began to berate me, there was no one else around but it felt as though the world could see and hear everything he was saying.

He mentioned how every private part of my body was probably scorched with burns and scars. He mentioned how I would be cute, it if weren’t for that.

At that moment I thought to myself, what makes you think that you are that much better than me? What makes you think that you can humiliate me to the point where I don’t even want to return back to one of the places I loved the most.

Who say you down and told you that it was okay to make other people feel as though they are not worthy enough to be alive, to sit there in stare me in my eyes and say those things with a smile on your face. I still remember his laugh echoing down the hallway.

I know now, hurt people hurt people. He was hurting within himself, he was fighting demons, he didn’t have people surrounding him who loved him. Hurting me made him feel good, strong, he craved the attention that he didn’t receive at home.

Please teach your children that no one person is the same on the outside, everyone comes in different shapes, colors, and sizes. But everyone has a heart, and when your are born it beats strong, it is whole. Don’t break it, don’t be the reason while someone’s heart no longer beats. Stop staring at me, stop making me feel like less of a person.