on body

here's a story about me: i learned to walk on my first birthday.

my cousin said that it was as though i woke up and decided, yep this is the day guys. i got up and fell relentlessly, determined face plant after face plant, until my parents probably thought i was retarded. finally, i got up walking and truthfully, i've been walking and falling ever since.

in between middle school and high school, i gave myself the nickname of 'fel'. as in, i fell, but that's in the past. i fell, but i always get back up. i fell, but never again.

that was not true. perhaps it should have been, 'fell, fall, will fall'. but this is how i stumble through. there has been conversation lately about my insecurities, my lack of confidence in myself, but i disagree; i feel that i intimately know my weaknesses, and am aware of my strengths. afterall, we're the masters of our own destruction, and when that day comes, i would like to be able to assess how i reached that point.

maybe my circulation is bad, but whenever i get hurt, the scar does not fade easily. being a sculpture major is not necessarily good for my clumsiness either. i've cut myself on band saws, burned my fingers several times, cut myself on table edges and assortment of blades. i have little marks all over my arms, legs, and face even, like constellations,

like drawings.

i throw myself through sand and waves. my body burnished with mistakes, polished. it may not be pretty, but i wouldn't know how else to be. so, friends, stop challenging my scars. don't look down on me when i fall. i treasure my hard-earned patina. and you'd be foolish to feel sorry for me. watch me, and you'll see.