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.