Scars

Under my brow, to the right, lies a scratch just above my eye
Caused by swinging around and around
From my sister’s hands in our living room at age three.
At first a game, I swung
Laughing
As I revolved,
My clean white Strawberry Shortcake sneakers kicking
The pink shoelaces flailing,
She swung me a little too close to a chair.
Wooden, with comfy cushions,
But it wasn’t the cushions I hit.
I knew my sister always had it in for me.

A small indentation between my eyes
From an extra itchy chicken pock when I was younger;
My parents didn’t have the oven mitts to affix my hands
And muffle my nails.
Left to my own devices,I scratched
And now I have what I’d like to call
A third eye.
But it’s rather a symbol for afterthought.

‘Fuck’ in small, blocky letters
On my inner, upper arm.
Caused by a foolish, temporary sense of nihilism
The way some earn cigarette burns
At 2 am
During “contemplative” conversations
With their bored druggie buddies.
At least it’s barely legible now.

Missing toe. Shark attack in the Pacific.
..Just kidding.

A thin, bulging scrape along my most loving artery
From this mister I once thought I had
Who pulled on my heart strings
Pulled a little too tightly.
Wrapped tightly against the throbbing blood,
The package in my chest
With capacity to love.
Left a fading welt,
A slight disfigurement from rope-burn.