Hidden beneath my skin,
I had engravings of victory
Wars that I fought with the world
And myself,
Which had been a mystery.
Those cuts oozed out,
Pain that I felt,
Screamed and shouted
All those stories, they held.
But now it feels,
A time long ago
My scars have though healed
Still have memories to say.
All words I held back,
Have found their way out.
Once these etches,
Were my impuissance
But now I embrace them,
Flaunt them in plume.
These are marks of my
Triumph, over my wars.
Now since I am
Fearless and bold
Because these faint scars,
Tell tales of old.
My soul is contempt,
As it know, it has cured.
–Sugandha Verma
Escapist 