She had scars
Visible veins peering through
Her flesh

Like cracks on pottery

Self-love is something
She deemed utterly impossible
The concept was long extinguished

However, it seemed
Someone saw different
She couldn't love herself

But he certainly loved her
And she could feel that
His care for her

He knew she was scarred
To what degree he didn't know
But he looked passed them

Instead, seeing them as cracks
Filled in with
Gold.