I’m not a teacher

I’m not a teacher

but I can tell you you’re worth

more than your scars

That you are more beautiful

for keeping going

When you feel pulled into the whirlpool

Treading carefully

and getting happy, jolly shoes stuck

Clippity-clopping, sinking

Shuffling, into in the tar

Dog poo on the new shiny ones

You dance, rhythmic, through the park

Sparkle, laugh out loud

Breeze into atmosphere’s where others don’t give life any thought

You have to take a moment to sigh

and breathe out

Seeing life

and lighting up when you, once, felt you’d befriended, the depths of the dark

This is living life, wholly and large

Real and authentic

And to think, they chastise you for your scars