Patchwork Prince

 

They call him the Patchwork Prince.

Not because he chose the title,
but because life keeps adding pieces—
a biopsy here,
a surgery three days after the results,
another black Band-Aid where skin used to be untouched.

Squamous cell carcinoma has become an unwelcome companion,
showing up unannounced,
asking for more patience than anyone should have to give.

Still, he shows up.

He sits in waiting rooms.
Learns new medical terms.
Lets strangers mark his skin with ink,
Then removea what doesn't belong.

The black band-aids gather like small flags,
quiet evidence of battles that rarely make the news.
Beneath them are scars.
Beneath the scars are stories.
Beneath the stories is a man who keeps going.

There is courage in dramatic moments,
but there is another kind
in answering the phone,
hearing the results,
and showing up for surgery three days later.

The Patchwork Prince knows that kind of courage.

His kingdom is not made of castles.
It is built from resilience,
good doctors,
healing hands,
and the stubborn belief that tomorrow is still worth planning for.

Every patch tells a story.
Every scar marks a victory.
And the Prince, stitched together by experience and hope,
moves forward—
not untouched,
but undefeated.

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