Grade seven, at nearly thirteen years old
At home there was an aggressive puppy with claws and sharp teeth,
Teeth that would bite my arms and hands, leaving red scars
I didn't like being scratched and bitten all the time, but I tolerated it
And I'd go to school with the scars still visible,
Not really giving a crap.

There was one day, sometime during May or June, I can't quite recall,
I was sitting beside some sixth grader.
He saw the marks on my arms, and I remember he said,
"That's a lot of cuts. Are you emo?"
"No," I laughed, a little confused.
Later I thought that I probably should've told him it was my dog.

Now I've started thinking about that time in seventh grade,
I've started worrying,
Did he actually think I was cutting myself?
Did other people see the dog bites and think I was self-harming?
God, I hope not...