Written by Writer Shweta Ranjane and Edited by Editor Mrinali Jadhav

They asked me, "What's wrong with you?"
"Why can't you smile and just push through?"
"You're just lazy, and a coward too."
"You're full of excuses, that much is true."

So I said, "I'm fine, there's nothing wrong,"
But deep inside, my heart played a different song.

So I faked a smile, hiding the tears and the fears,
Working against my will, with no fruit to bear.

I was a bird trapped in a gilded cage,
Singing sweetly to please my captors.

But the more I tried, the less I became,
A shell of myself, with no fire, no flame.

But yet they couldn't see the scars I carried inside,
The marks of battles fought, and victories defied.

When they finally saw them, they gasped and sneered,
As if my scars were lame, ugly and grotesque,
A reminder of the pain I could not suppress.

For no one ever admires scars, it's true,
They only bring pity, criticism and awkward gazes too.
A life, ruined!

But to me, they were badges of honour and glory,
Proof of my courage and my life's story.

So I won't let them judge me by my scars,
Or let them define me, or keep me behind bars.

I'll wear them with pride, like a coat of arms,
And show the world that I'm unbreakable and strong.

For every scar tells a tale of survival,
A battle fought and won, a test of will.

And though my journey may have been tough,
I've emerged stronger, and that's enough.

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