Who Can Judge Another Man's Suffering?

How Right That The Body Changed Over Time, Becoming A Gallery Of Scars, A Canvas Of Experience, A Testament To Life And One's Capacity To Endure It.

One Can Bear Anything. The Pain We Cannot Bear Will Kill Us Outright.

We Strive For Beauty And Balance, The Sensual Over The Sentimental.

She’s Not As Pretty As You,” I Said “but She’s A Simpler Girl,” My Mother Whispered.

Without My Wounds, Who Was I? My Scars Were My Face, My Past Was My Life.