by Cindy Bredwell

Created on: June 02, 2009

Ever time I dress I look at the marks. The purples, the reds, and the darken grays. I shower and I watch the suds run down them. I remember every cut that made them and every stitch that sewed them shut. The pain that exploded underneath them and the fire that caused them to burn.

Would I change it? Not for a million dollars. They are the marks of my womanhood, the marks of my motherhood, and the marks of my strength. I admire them, I worship them, I trace them with my finger tips just to feel the power that they hold. To be amazed how each scar can offer such life changing events. To switch your paths of destiny in a blink of an eye and a sweep of a blade.

You can see a persons life within each and every one of them. To see the pain and passion they have overcome. To see the offerings they have brought to this earth to make it a better place. Most look and see just ugly markings. Only the open eyes and mind can see the truth and spirit behind each line. That is where the storys are and that is where you can find the only truths.

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