Scars and Stretch marks:

All those scars on my face,

And those stretch marks with my pace,

is those sign of my inability?

or are those sign of my absurdity?

or are those question mark on my identity?

The scars I got on my face, on my forehead,

When I was young, 7 years old,

The scars depict I am hard

The stretch marks on my pouch,

are the sign that I am strong.

Those are the sign that everything

doesn't go as per plan

they don't go well.

The scar on my face is the story of I got

injured by a baseball bat.

Those stretch marks and my loneliness tells that

my delivery didn't go well.

Every cut on my face by clumsy people around,

Every stitch on my head is all that narrow minds are about.

Although they all failed to do so,

what they always meant to do.

Those scumming pressure on me,

to always dug me deeply.

Deep deep in the well of the obscure chorus,

Deep in the dark of the never coming future.

Those hard days with my pain,

and you know what

remembering those makes me stronger again and again.

Every cut on my spine, which I got

when I was thrown off the cliff, cliff of

expectations to the ground of disgust.

And every stone of reality I hit

while rolling to the ground.

From the bed of roses to the ground of thrones.

They killed a little part of me, every time I smile,

And ever since I came out of the era of disgust and disgrace.

I got to know,all these cuts,

Stiches, injuries have become the bookmarks of my life

In between the pages I have been flipping around.

And those who say about my stretches and scars.

I have learnt to know, who I really am

and really don't care who you are..!