Another try at a 15 line poem

Still accepting names for this kind of poem.

Bumps, scrapes, and scars mar my skin,
but they are lovelier
than the stretching marks
that look like veins
of a vine
seeping
through
my skin
and taking
ahold of my
limbs, rendering them
useless and hideous
in my eyes and those of
others, or so I imagine.

(Prompt by me)

Image posted by the Internet Archive Book Images. Image from page 47 of "Little helpers" (1889).