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 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. 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. 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. 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. 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 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. 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. 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. 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 My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They 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 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 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 ha 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 dn’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 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 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 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 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 m 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 arred 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 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 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 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 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 are what they are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.