I passed by a mirror today and my bangs were up a little.
There has been talk about the strength in scars. About finding beauty in your own. I really appreciate, not the romanticization, but the acceptance and reality with self-harm scars. But will you take my ugly ones? The dent in my forehead? The obvious glitch in the ordinary. Or, at the very least, one of the many. Can you look me in the eye with that and still call me beautiful? It wrinkles my skin. It’s still new and it’s pink. Can you handle that? Because that one gives me no strength. Its story holds no glory. That too, is ugly. It doesn’t matter. I need to. Scars show a place of hurt, a place where you only grew back stronger. This one of mine shows an injury where I could have died. And perhaps, should have. Most people don’t need to know that. I don’t need any proof, whether you expect hardship, trauma, or even comedy. I don’t need your judgment. I don’t need you to decide I’m “still” pretty. I’m a goddess, goddammit. I’m smart and I love painting my nails. I have cool hair and I like word games. But… again, I don’t need any proof. Beauty doesn’t define a person. You don’t have to be pretty to deserve respect. And I think not pointing out someone’s scar (especially if they are obviously trying to hide it), make fun of it, or decide on your own assumptions makes that list.
1 Comment
Sunshine
5/19/2018 06:49:34 pm
This is raw and beautiful, Whitney. I love the no apologies approach. Keep writing!
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Who Am I?Hi there! I'm Whit, my pronouns are they/them, and I write a lot.
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Painting by Whit Acrylics on masonite April 20th, 2019 Words are a Quaker saying. George Fox? |