I wrote this a couple of weeks ago...

every time i look in the mirror
all i see are scars.
each one having their own story
their own memory of a different hospital bed
their own pain of a needle stick
each make up part of who I am.

each time I touch my neck
i can feel where the tubes used to be
the ones that kept me alive
while the disease i have
tried it's best to take my life
for two and a half years.

I try to get rid of them
scratching them for hours at a time
until it burns just from the air brushing over it
in the shower, it stings
but it is easier to bear that physical pain
than to talk about it with the one i love.

"your beautiful" he tells me
each time it cuts deeper
than the time before
because i know i'm not
i can't be beautiful to anyone
except to my creator.
for He is the one that made me this way.

Not a day goes by that i don't wander
what it would be like if my disease would have won.
would my parents try again?
or would the pain of my death be too much
and they not risk having another like me?
where would they be today?

On December 11
when i walk down the isle
to marry the man of my dreams.
everyone will be looking at me
they may actually be looking at
my dress, or my veil, or even my flowers
but to me, they will only be looking at my scars.

my scars have been with me all of my life
and will never go away
this, i am content with
i don't know what life would be like without them
they allow me to hide myself in them
and with that, i am content.

every time i look in the mirror
all i see are scars.
each one having their own story
their own memory of a different hospital bed
their own pain of a needle stick
each make up part of who I am.
but not what I am.