The body I see looking back at me is neither tan nor dark brown, but what it was when life sprang into it.
No alterations were made, except that of hardships and tragedies.
Splinters pierce through the skin symbolizing the times of doubt, insecurity, and hopelessness.
The skin, which was smooth once, is now aged with despair in finding hope.
The scars portray a picture, a time line, and a story of the early years.
Can it be the body looking back at me was beautiful, alive, and full of life?
Even happy in a way it is so impossible to explain?
I sit and think. No it can't be possible.
Being stepped on, paraded on in excitement.
The noise of people brings me down with no hope in getting back up.
