This scar was the first (as far as I know).
Riding my tricycle and looking behind me,
I went down cement stairs. I was three so
I don’t remember.  But I still have that habit
of looking behind me. 

This next scar is very faint. I tripped as I ran
away from my first heartbreak, tripped up the
stairs. My eyes squinting so hard against the
impending onslaught that would mess my make

These scars here are camouflaged by freckles.
These are the spaces where I was sure that
bleeding would release the pain that built up

This scar only I can see, it lives like a whisper
in the back of my brain and occasionally 
reminds me that it will always be there. 

This scar, my favorite scar, brought forth
life, demanding my complete devotion.
Monopolizing my attention and leaving fresh, 
prettier scars on my heart.