The Meaning of Scars

The Meaning of Scars

My scars are not silent tapestries
Of wounded flesh
Displayed on the surface of my being
For hungry eyes to scour
And despise in misunderstanding.

They are brave shields grown over
Gaping gashes
Made by life’s misfortunes,
Keeping my soul from spilling
Out of me
Into the nothingness
Of Death.

Often, in the deafening
Quietness of pain
They break the great silence
Of trauma
To recount stories of salvation
That I would otherwise forget
In a body unmarked by
Tragedy.

To make them speak,
I have to touch them gently,
With love and gratitude
For the work they’ve done
To keep me alive
While I was dying

It’s only when they feel safe
That they really open up
And, under my caress,
Begin to utter the tale of how
Once
A frail girl burned to embers
And lived to write about it.

My scars are not memories of horrors
Etched on the outside of who
I’ve become after the fire
Serving to show others
Proof of fate’s untamable cruelty
And so
Sow fear into their hearts.

They’re reminders
That even though the flames
Used me as their anguished canvas
It is I who ultimately chose
What they’d end up drawing:

Maps that trace the route
My body took to save me
Fierce self-made tattoos that honor
My survival
And designs carved in skin
Of a path
Leading to a better world.
For both the scarred
And the yet unscarred.

Photographer: Vladimir Gheorghiu 

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*No copying, publishing or reproduction of this text is allowed without permission. Mentioning the author and the source is mandatory: Alexandra Furnea – Gen Underground