When I was 8 I broke my indext finger
On the left side
Few years before that I was in a fire accident
I still have patches of scars to remind me of it
Little here and there
A fading one on my belly
On my 18th birthday I realized I had more scars than I should
More of those I couldn't poke at with my fingers
Irrevocably deeper though
I'm 20 now
But I feel 201
Perhaps I look it too
Not when your eyes skim the surface of my skin
But when they're connected with mine
And the age of whipping moments have made them grotesque
Battered beyond recognition
I used to have a best friend when I was 4
A childes mind made it seem he would be my only friend
Forever and then for the years to come
He towered over the mean kids at school
And waved good night
From his window when I went to bed
When I turned 12 I couldn't recall what this friend looked like
The years had scrubbed his silhouette from my thoughts
Only the scrambled pieces of our endeavors remained
Like the time of the fire accident
Where I had to sleep on a mattress layed on the floor
and he had spent days on the cold tile next to me
He would wipe away my fearful tears
And tell me it would be alright
That I was still pretty
The prettiest he had ever seen
On my 18th birthday I remembered him
And his inoccent words
When such things could be spoken with out dire consequence
When me being called pretty was a concept I looked forward to
on my 18th birthday I broke my curfew
And stayed past midnight
I broke promises
And made bad choices
On my 18th birthday
I lived for the years I couldn't
I took a breath and many more
That weren't scorched with fear of being branded
When I turned 18 I made promises children make to themselves
Come true
For me and the thoughts I never let myself reflect
Now i'm 20
And I wonder if I only lived until I was 18
