If courage is something we inherit
then mine was already battle scarred
the day my parents sewed it into my blood.
Whenever I have to reach for it
I reread the fingerprints bruised along its flesh
from worried hands that clutched it close
The beatings haven’t made it fragile.
Instead it’s more like leather,
worked until it bends softly beneath pressure
but refusing to break.
More often than not I wrap it around my joints
in the hope it will support knees
when I force them to lift me a little higher.
I cannot hide myself completely
beneath its folds
as all armour has its chinks.
Instead I protect myself as best I can,
tuck in the frayed edges,
darn the patches when they come loose
and try to add something of mine
that I can pass on
when it becomes time.
Daily Post: Courage