Imperfect Skin

I wear bruises on my knees. They are accessories to the restlessness of my legs, and the tenacity that understands “stop” to only mean “keep going”. My skin could never be flawless, because I am a kind of reckless and stubborn that competes at the expense of vanity. Each scar and scrape is a testament to my eagerness to stay level. Flag football in flip flops that broke. Then barefoot. An incessant pulsing of impatience before the gun goes off. A crazed infatuation with movement and breathing. This is me.