Open Wound

I have no ink
no tattoos
only scars

They tell a story
of the time I went home
with my hand holding in my insides

They whisper of the day I was left alone
in the desert
to die

They show where the metal wounds come
from the sharp edges of mountain bikes
and where the road rushes up to meet you
from the skateboard that you ride


There is one from when I was very young
and the knife missed
and so I am not blind

There is one upon my ear
where the clip of the gun
smashed through the window
and cut my earlobe

I drove away in reverse
as fast as I could

There are scars
and broken bones

And a broken heart