Those are the words that decorate my arms as I write this. I wrote them right after I got home. Why? Because today, my friend that I had known since preschool called me an attention whore for no reason whatsoever. I was hurt, so I wrote every mean thing anyone has ever called me down on my arms. Of course, this most likely isn't all that's on the list, but it's all I could remember at the time. For the longest time... I only thought of these words as freshly-opened wounds that wouldn't close. Ones that would hurt me whenever something was added to the list. But now, I realize that's not what they are. They aren't freshly open. They've been closed. They don't hurt anymore. They are not wounds. They are battle scars. They are things I have lived through. Battles I have fought. And I sure as hell ain't losin this battle now.
I envy all those people who always knew they were battle scars and not wounds. And I pity those who still think they are wounds. They aren't wounds unless you make them wounds. They are scars that you should wear with pride.