"God will not look you over for medals degrees or diplomas, but for scars"-Elbert Hubbard

There’s a scar by my left eyebrow from chicken pox.
There are scars on my elbows from falling off the swing.
There’s a scar on the inside of my right knee from when I fell off my bike.
There’s a scar on the back of my right ankle from shaving.
There’s a scar on my right ankle from a blister I got ice skating.
There’s a scar on the back of my left calf from when my lamp fell on me.
There’s a scar on the back of my right thigh from shaving.
There are scars on my chin and above my eyebrows from acne.
There are scars all over my feet from shoes and from running.
There’s a scar on the side of my middle finger on my right hand from when I mysteriously cut myself somehow.

We all have scars. Scars are marks of life. They show that we haven’t spent all our days inside our rooms sitting on our beds, hiding from the world. They show our braveness, our foolishness, our helplessness. They are imperfections that move us closer to perfection. If we spent all our time inside, away from life, we wouldn’t be living a full, well-rounded life and we’d be moving further from perfection then we would be if we were actually trying. Scars when looked at as a part of something bigger are beautiful. They are a scrapbook of our lives, a roadmap that only shows where we’ve been but can’t tell us where we’re going. Scars are life.