These scars sicken me,
Tattletale as third degree burns,
But those can be removed
by time
or eager hands
pulling off layers
of crusted flesh.
These remain,
fade,
reoccur,
multiply.
Blue and black
bite marks
hide in crevices
of my body
No matter how often
I claw my skin away.
I thought I won
the fight last night
but now
my knees buckle
sweat starts anew.
Gritting my teeth
I try to deny.
The weakling inside.
Raychel
Wagner
1998
