Three and a half small dents 

In my mothers old ring

Green aventurine held in tight by 

Tiny pesky clasps

Clasps that will clasp onto anything 

That even looks at them

Extracting strands of my blonde and brown curls

Like a fishing hook out of a fishes mouth

Bent in from the times I enthusiastically 

Slammed my palms onto surfaces 

Or fell forwards or backwards or sideways 

Roller skating 

The rings took the damage of my falls

A few rings took too much damage and snapped 

Under the pressure of the bumpy ground 

I could not part with my broken bands and they are sat 

Sadly in my jewellery box 

Begging to be fixed and brought back to life

I cannot bear to tell them that they cannot 

Be fixed

They seem in a better place with a 

False sense of hope

My fingers miss the familiarity and are colder now

Replacements are being searched for

But my body will know the difference