in five days,
i’ll close the book
on the story of five years
ago.

if you know where to look,
you’ll see the scars that read
inadequate,
but that’s not where you’ll look.

instead you’ll see
that i’ve trashed
all that noise
of old.

i am no longer ashamed
of these white lines on pale thighs,
for these embedded black lines are
my reclamation.

i am no longer ashamed
of how clumsy i had been,
because i’m quite proud to say
i’ve survived.