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

seeking reassurance.

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

elbows

aching wrists

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.

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Daily Post: Courage