My Own Imperfections

5 feet 8 inches,
Of pale porcelain skin.
Long wavy brown hair,
With a touch of red.

Eyes of green,
Mixed with brown.
Lips so very thin,
Pale pink petals of puckered skin.

Scars spread far and wide,
Up and down from side to side.
Each of them show,
a piece of history.

Stomach once stretched,
Now lies almost flat.
Marks serve to remind,
Of the child once held inside.

Arm is scarred from,
A painful birth.
Skin dips down to the bone,
Grafts of tissue for cover up.

Rips in the flesh,
Appear as initials.
JCI,
Is all they spell.

Small little scars,
On my stomach lie.
They mark the spot,
Where my appendix did reside.

Scars serve as a history,
One that I will never forget.
The day I died,
But came back to life.

Tiny freckles serve as stars,
Guiding across porcelain skin.
They show my age,
Or so they say.  

What once stood strong and tall,
Now feels that it will fall.
But these will remain,
My own imperfections.