Comments about Joanna Bulik
Each scar tells a story that nobody knows
You see, just take a look at my arms...
A tale, a story unfolds beneath my clothes,
Of the scratches, the cuts and the burns...
This mark right here, my mother gave to me
A birthmark is all I have left of her.
Just a stranger that left, when I was three
Every memory is just a painful blur.
This blemish right here, just a faint memory,
Of my early childhood years.
I grazed my skin, running wild and free,
It's a reminder of childhood fears.
This burn, oh dear what a memory it is,
When things began to...