to write love on her arms

She had scars on her arms,

with every stroke tells a story.

These scars became a remembrance,

of how her perfection turns to flaw.

These scars became a memory,

from all the battles she endured.

These scars became a tattoo,

a self-inflicted pain.

She had scars on her arms,

to remind her she was only human.

human

When one does not give you moral support

you became your own backbone

but your spine could not take that much pressure on its own.

It's okay
if you are still standing
you are still surviving.

horizon

You are my heaven but maybe I am your hell.