Scars

[tun]

Scars are my tattoos.
On my body; on my soul
They tell my story.

Here there seems to be an assumption of authority, intimacy, or significance where none has been earned. There is the presentation of a private experience—a claim about suffering and identity—but there is no substantial reason to trust judgment, taste, or insight. There’s no frame, no context, no aesthetic or intellectual grounding, no demonstration of craft or facility that would earn the reader’s attention or credibility. In short - it is impossible to know the meaning of the words presented. It seems to be saying; 'In life - there is memory and experience.' There is no indication to who or what those memories or experiences 'tell a story to' - or what the purpose of the 'telling' might be?