There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story.

Each one represents

a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.”
My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my
life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t
occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me
distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t
renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they
are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.