head butt through 27.3

my scars are all i hold to my name

i collect them, slowly, eagerly.

they glitter and shine on my tired skin,

as badges of honour

as testaments to stoves too hot

or nose bones too sharp for small fists

as ‘brave girl’ stickers from the dentist.

show me your teeth

try not to smile

and i see your war face staring back at me.

it’s like looking in a mirror.

ever punched through one?

it feels like breaking through to another side

a parallel universe, perhaps.

one in which you look at me

and see something worth keeping alive.

all you see is wall

but all i see is more space for splattered brains.