Being Human

I look at my hands and I see scars. Scars that reflect idiotic choices of my past. Dumb ideas or influences that caused me such grief. However, I wouldn’t take them back. The reminders of a life lived. The scars that relive events in my hand and face reflect a point in life. Not to dramatically, but subtly. People are scarred in general and they’re perception reflects that. As human fucking beings we are products of our scarifications our trauma from being in relations with each other. Life is our triumph through said trauma and scarring. We’ll die altered by our surroundings and it’s only made us stronger. Life is easy, I’ve said this a lot, but it takes balls to do what needs to be done. Not to exclude women, but the verbiage is just to state a need rather than what’s needed.