When I was a little girl, I would cry for my eraser,
Everytime I'd scribble something wrong,
Everytime I'd make a mistake.
I remember the days when I gave almost everything I had,
Just to make my drawing sheet flawless again.
That little girl I was back then in my kindergarten days,
Had absolutely no idea about the beauty of scars.
Back then I could have learnt how to deal with my mistakes,
How to draw something out of them,
Maybe some designs maybe some shapes.
Maybe then it would be much easier for me,
To confront them now.
Oh ! How I wish I had my eraser again.
I'd eradicate so many of my scars, so many flaws,
And then for a moment I'd pause,
And think to myself, what's the difference,
In what I was as a child and what I'm now.
If I'm still wanting to erase parts of me, parts of my life.
Maybe I don't actually need an eraser.
All I need is one sharp knife.
In due course, one thing's for sure.
I'll never whine for my eraser like I used to do,
I'll never want to erase the scars that they gave me.
They were a part of me and so will be their scars.
Yes, scars can be beautiful too,
If only one learns how to own them.
And live happily through.
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