These scars do not diminish my worth. These scars are not unattractive, deal-breaking pieces of baggage. These scars do not make me a bad partner. These scars are not a reason to stay away.
I am strong, kind, honest, and a beautiful person. I will not allow you to take that away from me.
These are not your wounds to heal, but we are thankful every day that we wake up and you are still there beside us.
You rebut, “He never hits me.” She looks over to you, to your hollow self, with pity and whispers, “He doesn’t have to.”
I look at you and I see all that is right, despite how many things that have gone wrong. I look at you and most of all I hope you see yourself not for the cracks and the broken pieces. I hope you see the light that has shined through you, brightening the lives of everyone around you.
These pathological individuals walk among us every day in their false masks, often unseen and unnoticed because of how eerily normal they are.
The newspapers write about the infamous people who tortured and killed. Novels are written. Movies are produced. The victims are left in the dust.