My Scars

I look at my arms.
The cuts and scars are healing.
I find myself questioning
why I ever began to cut,
because I realize that
it is pointless.
Sure,
I became addicted
very quickly
and it got to the point
where I began to
crave it,
hunger for it.
But at the end of the day,
where did it get me?
No where.
All I received out of it
was scars.
Ugly reminders of the life
I had lived
and suffered through.
But I realize that
they also show that I survived.
I didn't want to in the
beginning.
I would have given anything
to not be here.
But these scars are my battle wounds.
People may cringe,
stare,
or quickly look away
when they see them,
but to me,
they are so much more than
slowly fading marks.
They remind me that I am stronger
then I ever was,
that I believe I am.
They show I am alive.