i look at the burn peeling on my arm and i think about all the **** that got me here
from the red asterisk i drew with a knife three years ago
in the butter yellow room of my older sister's house
when we were homeless
to the childhood summer i spent as a lake baby
in my grandmother's car

i finger the scores of cuts on my arms
my thighs
old, most of them
some too deep to fade
each scar has a face
most of them are
mommy's

i like to remember her from old photographs
sun-bleached hair down to her unblemished thighs
the most inexplicable shine in her face

i think of how different those photographs would be
if she knew then that her daughter hurt her body
every time she thought of her mother

i think the smile would be different

but i look at her now
grayed,
aging...
still smiling.
as if she didn't know
that she made me a tiger
gave me these stripes
as if she didn't know
that it is her fault i am a killer

i look at the burn peeling on my arm
and for once this self harm isn't pretty to me
it is very, very ugly
a big, blistering red mark
marring my freckles
i wonder when it will fade
or if it will at all
i wish i could burn more than
just this arm
of mine.