Stretch Marks I'm okay with embracing my curves. The shaped feminine figure gives the body character. But with a carved sculpture like mine, the canvas cannot simply be blank. The smooth curves are covered in marks more shameful than scars. Hideous, purple lines that creep like branches and shine in the light, screaming for attention. They spread like an illness, embedded in my flesh. This natural flaw is like a splash of blood on a white wall. It stands out, and it is sickening. The flawed flowers are never picked. But I say I've earned my stripes, and I will wear them with pride. An original is worth more than a copy. Screw the flowers. No pair of snowflakes are ever identical.
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Cassie
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