Jun 22, 2016
my old preferredmethod
i use my mom's exacto knife. or her embroidery scissors. once i used the paper towel dispenser in the guest bathroom here.
i feel the corners of my mouth turn up; i'm not happy, but somehow i have to fight the urge to smile. i look at my arm. it's crisscrossed with pink lines, lines that strike me as delicate and faint, lines i remember making. guess i'll never wear a strapless ball gown. i never planned on wearing fancy clothes, but for some dumb reason, now i really want to. in fact, i want to so badly, i feel like crying.
scars will fade. it looks like some already faded. there are treatments, too, medical treatments that can help get rid of scars. but i may not want to get rid of my scars. they tell a story.
