Your body is your masterpiece:
Skin is the canvas,
Blood is the paint.
A knife is your paintbrush,
Nedles are pens.
Create a portrait of your soul,
Display it on yourself.
The scars may fade, but you can still see them,
Just like lines that you erased.
The paper may wrinkle, but the image is clear.
The image of pain, that had once seared your soul.
This art is yours, and yours alone.
This is the feelings you have shown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem