This layer is stuck on me.
Like old mud that won’t wash away.
Reminding me of my past.
The harder I rub the deeper it gets.
A part of me.
When all I want is for it to be gone.
Then one day I realize:
It is part of me and that’s ok.
This layer, these scars
They show me how far I’ve come.
Not reminders of shame,
Signs of hope.