Scarred reflection

Mirror's harsh gaze, a cruel scrutiny,
Dissecting every flaw, each imperfection I see.
The scars that adorn this canvas of flesh,
Reminders of pain, a tapestry of mesh.

I trace the lines, these marks of survival,
Yet all I feel is disgust, a loathing revival.
The stories they tell, of battles hard-fought,
Are overshadowed by the hatred they've brought.

This vessel, this body, a prison I loathe,
A constant reminder of the suffering I've clothed.
The curves, the angles, the parts I despise,
Fuel the inner critic, the voice that decries.

"You're not enough," it whispers, a venomous hiss,
"Unworthy, unlovable, a life built on this?"
Self-hatred consumes, a raging wildfire,
Burning away any semblance of desire.

To love myself, to embrace this scarred form,
Seems an impossible task, a battle to overcome.
For in these marked valleys, these hills of dismay,
I've lost the beauty, the light paved the way.

Yet, in the depths of this self-loathing abyss,
A glimmer of hope, a truth not to dismiss.
These scars are not flaws, but badges of honor,
Reminders of strength, a resilience to ponder.

Each mark, each line, a story etched in grace,
Of battles conquered, of demons I've faced.
They are not imperfections, but proof of my might,
A warrior's journey, a reclamation of light.

So, I'll learn to embrace these scarred reflections,
To see them as beauty, not sources of dejection.
For in their existence, a power resides,
A testament to the spirit that forever abides.