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Scars

I never knew purple could be such a beautiful color until I found it on the forearm my being. Striped in perfectly imperfect lines. Blotched with a deeper purple and edges that bleed into red. Thick slashes of color on a beige canvas. Under the colored lines are those of bright white. Like a shadow of light; Revealing more than seen by just a glance. A couple are even a peachy purple. The lines look worn and tired, but still so beautiful. The usually pink pale scars light up in the crispness of the morning cold. The purple ignites with fury that burns brighter than a thousand suns. There are more on me of course, but none nearly this breathtaking. I get the stares. I get the questions. To softly brush them away I say I'm a tiger. To those who really want to know: They are the safes where my deepest secrets lie. I will not be ashamed. So seeing their glow this morning I wear a short-sleeve. They are stunning and they are mine. They are beautiful beyond words despite people thinking they are ugly. Their soft smooth edges are proof that I've fought. And I'm not done fighting.

--Taylor V., 7th-8th Grade