Scars Tell a Story by Rachel Fagan

I've been thinking about scars lately. As a massage therapist I see them all. There's a certain respect that comes over me when I see those scars and hear their stories.  When I was younger it used to annoy me when my peers would boast about their scars and try to collect as many as they could.  It seemed foolish to me to want to get hurt.   Now that I have grown, I think I understand more about people and the meaning and history that scars hold.  

Scars tell a story,

They tell of our lives,

From the very beginning,

When we opened our eyes.

Someone went through pain for us

To be here on this earth,

She still bears the marks we gave her

At the moment of our birth.

We began all our adventures,

We went stumbling along,

We were small, but the world was big,

Scars tell how we were headstrong.

Scars tell a story

About how we learned

That a curve in the road and the speed of a bike

Must carefully be discerned.

The anguish of youth,

Scars tell of the pain,

Of finding ourselves

And the truth and the gain.

Of feeling lost, alone,

And without hope,

Scars show we outlived

The hurtful way that we coped.

Scars tell of times

When we were having fun,

Calamity came, made the story great,

And we talk of how we won.

Scars tell of service,

And brave, daring deeds,

Of how we worked hard,

And risked all for their needs.

Scars tell of our culture, Our customs and beliefs. They represent devotion, love And the highest form of beauty.

Scars tell of accidents.

Some we wish to hide,

For who wants that reminder,

When it really hurt our pride?

Scars show the miracle

Of the old replaced with new,

The terrible thing was taken out,

In its place the healthful grew.

Some sickness or infection

Left it's mark behind,

But we know that we're the stronger for it, 

In body and in mind.

Scars tell a story.

Or, rather, make a statement,

Like a medal from a victory,

After hardship’s abatement .

Though we’ve been through trials,

And this life our skin has rived,

The scars are there to cry out,

“Here is proof that I survived!”