You kissed my scars like you were the reason they were inflicted on me in the first place.
but you were never there, and i didn’t even know you then.
So you could never be the one to blame
But you kissed them anyway.
almost as if that would somehow mend them.
But you can’t mend scars.
They’re enfused unto you. into you.
They’re a part of who you are.

Is that what you were doing this whole time?
Kissing the parts of me for what they are?
How does your face not grimace when you do that?
I wish i understood what it feels like to accept those parts of me.
but i grimace everytime and wish the scars were never there.
but you kissed them anyway.