They're Not Battle Scars. "They're not battle scars," she says, Tears flowing, cheeks curved, In a most hideous, bittersweet expression. "Do not celebrate me," she tells, Her vague acquaintances, Who follow and worship her harming. "Treat yourself as you would another," she explains, Placing her blade on the table, And taking a step back. "You decide when it stops hurting." She preached.
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Grace H.
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