thirty-three scars

decorate my right arm,

sixteen scars

trace along my left thigh,

thirteen scars

dance across my hips,

five scars

lie on my sternum,

tally marks for each time

my exterior cracked and

I fell apart,

like dinner plates crashing

against the wooden floors

as mom screams

"get your act together",

like waves slamming

against the grains of a beach,

the cold sensation

eroding my intestines away,

like the impact of a calloused

and bloody fist pounding

against the plaster walls,

heartbeats colliding with

each other;

scotch tape and apologies

could never heal

scars and cracks like mine.

When I was a little kid I had this rare disorder that was fixed with a simple surgery but the surgeon must've been drunk. He did a real hack job on me and the scar was pretty spectacular. The misshapen flesh-covered centipede shaped scar sat just east of my navel and ran vertically down my belly about nine inches.

During the hot summer when I'd go swimming or throw my shirt off while riding bikes with friends, people would always ask,"Whoa how'd you get that scar?" I hated talking about it and I was always trying to explain because everyone asked about it...everyone. You would too, if you saw a little kid with a kool-aid smile, running around shirtless with a 9" scar taking up his tummy real estate.

So...I just decided to make up a story to explain away my spectacular scar.

One hot sunny day I peddled up to the Tastee Freeze with my partners in crime and this old guy just busted out, "Hey what happened to you, where'd you get that scar kid?" I spun around, threw my bike on the ground and yelled, "Knife Fight!"

I flipped him off and we rode away.

I have my fair share of scars, most of them gained from those playful moments that end up going wrong. There's the one that runs across my wrist, one down my knee, and another on my ear, just above my piercing. Each white, knotted, jagged scar will always be something I treasure all my life, because they hold memories of my childhood. However, the scars that cut me the deepest had not even broken my skin. They're scars carelessly left on my heart, placed by those I felt I could trust.

To put it simply, my childhood was full of crapy friendships. I felt as if, no matter where I turned, I always turned to a knife, whether it be to my back, my throat or my heart. I was used, deceived, manipulated, but I was either too naive or too lonely to leave. My life seemed to only have two paths at the time. To stay friends with those who abused my trust, or to be alone.

I don't regret having the friendships, but I do regret everything else. I regret not leaving them sooner, and accepting that as my life. My biggest regret was blaming myself. Saying I wasn't strong enough, smart enough, or good enough. However, like my physical scars, I treasure those that were left on my heart. They made me tougher, and allow me to prevent a repeat of the experience.

My scars are not visible,

Like stars during the day.

But they still are there,

And they always burn.

Because you cannot see my scars,

Does not mean that I do not hurt.

It just simply means,

I show it in other,

Much less conceivable ways.

Don't be ashamed of your scars.

I can show you scars that only dead people have.

Cover them with tattoos and call them creativity.

Smother the "I have scars" blues

And negativity.

They were your escape wounds to longevity.

I wish I knew the words to help you see

The beauty of what your future will be

I wish there was a sequence of sounds to get through

To shine the light of potential we see and to convince you

You're stumbling down a path I too have travelled

When all thought and all held dear becomes unravelled

All I can say is that while it's not always going to be okay

I am thankful I chose to keep going to be able to feel today

Some scars hurt

Others remind you of past pain

Some scars heal

Others make sure you don't go there again

My scars are almost all hidden within my mind, the few that exist on my body are like medals won through experience, and I carry them as such.

Perhaps my most serious scar is now healed (thankfully). I used to be a biker and took pride in my 1200cc Yamaha VMax until that day some 26 years ago when I was hit by a motorist and knocked into a picturesque stone wall. It caused a compound fracture in my spine and for the ten minutes it took for the medical team to arrive I was the subject of much attention from passing strangers who all stopped to look.

It struck me as actually quite funny in an ironic way because I realised that people only ever ask you if you're alright when it's obvious that you are not. Still, I'm guilty of that myself so I can accept it.

On another occasion I was advised to take more exercise so decided on a course of daily jogging. My route consisted of a simple three mile jog across some very lovely countryside, alas on my first outing I fell down a beautiful slope and broke my ankle. It snapped with a resounding crack and I lay there howling in agony. After fifteen minutes the pain subsided so I hobbled back to my hovel with one ankle swollen to the size of a medium Zeppelin.

On another occasion I had to be in work extra early in the morning so I set my alarm clock (this was before smartphones were even thought of). Knowing that I was terrible at getting up early I placed my alarm clock about six feet from my bed, so that I would have to get up to turn it off. Next morning my alarm went off as normal so I dived out of bed and strode quickly across my room and kicked a chair that was hidden in the blackness of the night. Result - I broke my little toe on my right foot - ouch!

Besides the above I have various dents and marks on almost every limb - trophies of past battles or collisions with solid objects.

My inner scars stem from my childhood and those have been well documented elsewhere on Prose.

If you add an e to scars you make scares - funny that - not!

We all have a few scars that force us to remember something we do not wish to remember, although, sometimes they give us happier memories. The one I choose to talk about, is my right hand scar. It was only about a year ago, I'm new to this town, and all the local girls just heard about me. They all loved me, and I loved it. Well, one night I was on the hood of their truck while they sat in the truck, driving down backroads. It was stupid, looking back at it, but we kept speeding until I could hardly grip to the hood. I wusses out and jumped, planning to land in the grass. The wind knocked me sideways though, dragging me across the concrete road. I hear the brakes skid and go to a stop, but by the time they've stopped I'm already running around. It hurt like a bitch, my whole right arm, face, and leg was bloody to hell, but I tried to run it off, plus I didn't want to look like a wuss. I ran into the truck and they all looked at me, then said, "We were going 70. How did you even survive that?!" It was a moment of shock for a moment, then we all yelled in cheer.

Now every time I look at my hand, I know just how crazy I am for girls

Like many people, I am covered with various nicks that are all but invisible unless you know what you’re looking for. My only real scar, the only one I’ve truly earned, is still, one year later, a pink line drawn in the sand across my lower abdomen, just below my bikini line. It’s faded a little in the middle and almost perfectly straight except on the left where my son kicked his way out of the womb, announcing to the world that he was a fighter. He was gray when he was born, a tiny bundle of baby that was brought to me for a kiss before being rushed away from me, the first time of many. I wasn’t surprised but that didn’t mean it hurt any less to watch him being taken away from me.

Halfway through my pregnancy, my son was diagnosed with a randomly occurring but potentially fatal heart defect. As my due date approached, it became more apparent that he would need a new heart to replace the broken one I’d given him. As I lay on the table in the operating room, after they’d taken him away from me, I waited on the table as I thought about the scars he would bear if he were strong enough to make it that far.

It occurs to me now that I had staples surrounding my scar but I never thought to count them. My skin hasn’t left me with any tick marks with which to count them now; all I’m left with is my scar but even that is fading, slowly but surely.

My son’s scars are fainter, albeit more numerous. His heart transplant at five-days-old left a long, slightly curved white line down his sternum but as he gets older, it gets a little smaller. His other scars, the divots in his flesh left by the chest tubes after surgery, are much more prominent. One of them, the bigger one, reminds me of how he kicked out his chest tube the first time his dad held him. We didn’t know until later that that tube had been propping open his right lung which then collapsed. My son survived, his lung was re-inflated, and now the mark on his chest is all that remains. Well, that and the memory. Our memory--not his.

It seems strange to see pictures of my son on the day he was born. His chest was smooth, unmarked by knives, but beneath it his heart swirled blood like a washing machine, unable to do what he, what I, desperately needed it to do. Now, a year later, a stronger, better heart beats underneath my son’s battle-worn skin. His scars are so much a part of him that I have trouble remembering those first few days when he chest was clear without the aid of a photo. His scars, my scar, every line is a reminder of how hard he fights. I’m not surprised though--I knew it from the first day when he kicked his way out. Scars are nothing when compared to what we get in return.

I have scratches on my hand

From playful friends with sharpie pens

I have dark lines on my thigh

From hot soup, 2009

I have two lines under my eyes

From where they took my breath away

And one line across my nose

From a sudden, falling nap

But my heart is like a crystal

Cut from clear, translucent earth

Not a flaw or or crack or scar

Because I heal them.

You can chip a corner off

Or split it straight in half

Stronger than ever,

My crystal heart will grow right back.