Never Unscarred

He tells me that I’m beautiful. I laugh. It’s a line, and I won’t take the bait. He laughs too. He says, I mean it! You are so beautiful. Maybe so but that doesn’t mean anything these days. Compliments are cheap. Any guy can throw one out. And they do, all the time. I am surrounded by hooks. But what I want to know is what they do when I bite. I don’t bite often, but when I do, I bite hard. Any guy can buy the bait, but they don’t know how to reel me in. And next time I bite, I want to make sure that I choose someone with a strong rod.

That sounded dirty but that seems to be my permanent state of mind these days. I watch the boys play baseball. I love the way their arms flex as balls soar through the sky. I don’t care about their faces, just the way they grip their bats and slide across the dirt. I love the little leg lift-up; it reminds me of a dance. I want someone to hit me out of the ball park.

He turns his head to see if I’m watching. I am. Unapologetically so. Later I see his face is old and hard and not so pretty. I don’t care. He has those arms and that arrogance. He’ll do.

I want to have affairs, crazy love affairs. I don’t want flimsy flings or ugly one-night stands. I want innuendo and indulgence and respect and flesh. I have spent so much of my life being single and celibate and perhaps it’s a shame. I am wasting my body. I am young and free and I want fantasies.

He stands up a little straighter when I’m around but he doesn’t pay me much attention. I always said we had bad timing but maybe he just never liked me all that much. He looks at me sometimes; he holds my eyes with his  but it doesn’t mean anything anymore. Eye-locks and compliments are nothing, not even promises.

We sat in the sunshine and drank beer. I covered up my scars with bandaids. When I looked in the mirror, I tried to imagine what my body looked like without scars. It might sound silly but I just realised that I will never be unscarred again. That sounds simple but it’s strange to think that I am changed forever. I don’t think I have ever enjoyed my body for a decent amount of time. Sometimes I think I’ve been cheated of my youth. All those years of striving to achieve perfection, and for what? I am twenty-six, forever scarred; all that perfect skin wasted. But then I realise that there’s no point because that was then, and this is now, and I will never, ever be unscarred.

I know that we think scars and imperfections are beautiful, but it’s hard to feel that way every day. There is no freedom in this; I have no option except to be scarred.

The word scarred is the word scared with a little extra rrrr. 


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

13 thoughts on “Never Unscarred”

  1. Scars are neither beautiful nor ugly, they are the prose that life has seen fit to write on your life. Poems important enough to be remembered. Someday a stranger will be hired to put you in a dress, sew a smile from your lips, and paint a mask on your face that will ease everyone else’s unease. But he won’t have any tools to erase your scars. Not the ones that can be seen and not the ones that can’t. I think that’s extremely appropriate.

  2. That extra “rrrr” is the power those scars gives you dear. Honestly though these scars only hold as much power over you as YOU give them. They will fade as the importance you place on them fades.

    1. Touche. I think I’m just bored of them. But guess what- less than 24 hours of writing this post, my doctor called and scheduled a session to start removing them! Yay!

  3. “The word scarred is the word scared with a little extra rrrr.”

    You knew that was perfect when you wrote it, didn’t you?

    You smirked and felt THAT feeling.

    I know it.

  4. i remember especially younger striving for that perfection…the “perfect image” and the disappointment that i just did not look perfect
    …now, i don’t care so much! i think i just got tired, too much effort for the outside when what’s important is the inside. if the inside is scarred or ugly or bad…it doesnt matter what covers it!
    i never minded my scars, which surprises me…but i didn’t. i guess they remind me that i survived….
    the memories are bad but
    they too ground me,
    i survived 🙂
    i like to say
    “what doesnt kill you, makes you stronger”

    btw, love your writing and your blog, esp liked
    “And next time I bite, I want to make sure that I choose someone with a strong rod.” 😉

    1. I definitely agree: I care less and less as I get older. I guess I’m just frustrated that just as I started not to care, I had to deal with something new. I’m not complaining, it’s just that some days it gets me a little down.

      Thank you for taking the time to leave me a comment!!

  5. beautiful.
    i will not say anything consoling, because i know self pity is something we do and need to feel sometimes 😉 don’t forget your unscarred bits though- the ones that matter.

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