People stare at me like im weird..a freak..an outcast..when they see my scars. You dont think about the scars when you cut do you? You just want to see the blood pour down your arm and drip onto the floor. It distracts you from the real pain..whatever your pain may be. They watch you from behind friends as you pick up a knife to cut your steak…whisper when you paint your nails and toenails black..laugh when you wear long sleeves in the summertime..in florida..just to cover up these scars..that forever remind you of what you lost..but i..i wouldnt trade mine for the world..I’d trade only the people who stare disgustedly at my old and new scars.