Scars of the naturally occurring kind

On my arm, just below the elbow and around a little.
We spent days fighting when my science teacher’s back was turned,
and at one point the weapons included pens. And I,
being a girl, was expected to back down. Never.
My kneecap, a raw circle of skin taken by the tarmac on our road.
I was winning at bike tricks, stood on the seat of my bike as the wheels
burnt about a corner. Until I fell anyway.
The scab lasted at least a fortnight, I reigned the playground.
Then there are the tiny scratch scars on my back,
we decided that jumping backwards into hedges
was our new sport. Of course I wanted to win at that too.
And there are scars on my ankles
where I wore the most beautiful shoes ive seen
for ten minutes, down the road.
Blood slipped along my toes,
wearing them out that night became a No.


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