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We welcome scar tissue into our arms like it’s a good thing
As if it were a long-loved but long-forgotten lover we pretend never made us long-suffering
Scar tissue whose flap signals hardening and distance, both reasons to smile sorrowfully
Scar tissue whose cells allow us to survive
But at an angry and vengeful cost
Scar tissue whose existence prolongs our own as if it had an agenda despite our will to die
Whose will does it heed?
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
Your Sympathies: