Scars

“Just like the moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I’ll Rise” –Maya Angelou

I remember the first time I saw Them; Jagged, defined– two shades darker than my milk chocolate skin. I remember how They made me feel: Weak, foul, ashamed, worthless– all the things I already told myself daily were aspects of my personality. I remember cowering from Them in every way I knew how: thick, black cardigans despite the summer heat, makeup daubed to an impenetrable stratum, and layers of lies about cats I’ve never owned.
But at the end of the day after I undressed alone, after I washed away the makeup, and after my imaginary cats were forgotten They’d still be there, ruthlessly defined at the top of my right arm. Taunting me. Daring me to grace Them with companions.

It was the first time I’d dragged…