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Description
every summer I would count my cuts and bruises and bites
see if any would unfurl into scars
every night I'd explore my constellation of stories
some of which I never knew
a nick from a blackberry, a hurried greeting to a table leg
blooming into a purple or iron mark
later fading or whitening into teeth on my skin

for all the things I did
I only have a few of these marks
waves of puberty breaking over thighs and hips
apparently growing gives stretch marks
scratches that seemed like they would fade
as their stories and memories did
from the crooks of my arms
a few pink flags from a knife
I only kept a few of these, my body knowing
which stories to keep, which to fade

the best example is the remains of my largest scar
three long streaks of Ionan barbed wire
thick white vines from a vault over a fence
one of which is the surviving scar
to keep me company when I miss the old island

the pink flags were little reminder notes
that yes I did this
where I had wished the black ink tightening my chest
would bleed with the burn of a shallow cut
the ones which stayed were reminders to love my body
strangely enough

I have no explanation for which scars stayed and which remained
as all of them looked the same at the time
equally deep ones would heal differently
equally shallow ones would fade or scar
but I don't count them anymore, the scars and scratches
unless I want the soothing numbers
like unraveling a puzzle or Fibonacci's number
to busy my mind and wish away the anxiety or fall asleep

Description
every summer I would count my cuts and bruises and bites
see if any would unfurl into scars
every night I'd explore my constellation of stories
some of which I never knew
a nick from a blackberry, a hurried greeting to a table leg
blooming into a purple or iron mark
later fading or whitening into teeth on my skin

for all the things I did
I only have a few of these marks
waves of puberty breaking over thighs and hips
apparently growing gives stretch marks
scratches that seemed like they would fade
as their stories and memories did
from the crooks of my arms
a few pink flags from a knife
I only kept a few of these, my body knowing
which stories to keep, which to fade

the best example is the remains of my largest scar
three long streaks of Ionan barbed wire
thick white vines from a vault over a fence
one of which is the surviving scar
to keep me company when I miss the old island

the pink flags were little reminder notes
that yes I did this
where I had wished the black ink tightening my chest
would bleed with the burn of a shallow cut
the ones which stayed were reminders to love my body
strangely enough

I have no explanation for which scars stayed and which remained
as all of them looked the same at the time
equally deep ones would heal differently
equally shallow ones would fade or scar
but I don't count them anymore, the scars and scratches
unless I want the soothing numbers
like unraveling a puzzle or Fibonacci's number
to busy my mind and wish away the anxiety or fall asleep