bruised

By a.lesser.thing

Sat, 20 Apr 2013

422 reads

4 comments

We think of bruises like
butterfly-kissed blossoms,
sprouting underneath skin.
His teeth leave bite marks
as if punctuation. The stories
he's trying to tell you sit in
the back of your hope chest, not
forgotten, but eerily avoided.

You're either real estate,
or getting a real kick out of
this. Do you think he loves you
because he's chosen to make a place
for himself inside of you? A refugee,
or a passerby, waiting out the storm.
His fists are the tornadoes that
ruined your hometown. His mouth
transforms him into the dog
that bit you when you were
three. The first time
his touch requires
stitches, you tell
them, "No, no,
it was me."

Certificate 15

Poem

Unclassified

Comments

exact, powerful, a poem only

Permalink Submitted by littleditty on Sat, 2013-04-20 16:13

exact, powerful, a poem only you could write, the ending demands empathy, understanding -excellent. Keep this for your future book on this subject -there are many who will feel its company, and empathy one day..

Another great piece, a.l.d.

Permalink Submitted by The Walrus on Sat, 2013-04-20 16:57

Another great piece, a.l.d. I love the structure of the last stanza, it flows as sweetly as honey.

A mighty poem. Impact like a

Permalink Submitted by VeraClark on Sat, 2013-04-20 19:36

A mighty poem. Impact like a tornado.This is my favourite of yours.

Thank you all so much. I'm

Permalink Submitted by a.lesser.thing on Sat, 2013-04-20 21:38

Thank you all so much. I'm glad to have people enjoying any of my pieces, let alone picking a favorite. It's easy for me to write about pain, or any form of abuse, because I've gotten beat around emotionally quite a bit. Even when I stopped getting the emotion abuse, I picked it up and began emotionally abusing myself, which eventually lead to physical abuse. As far as that, I can also extend myself into multiple people (as shown in fighting). For me, my pain means nothing if I cannot learn to make something good out of it. I make the endings so harsh because, while the writing of the pain can be beautiful, I don't want to romanticize abusive relationships (or mental illness) with self, others, etc. You have to realize that the bad is still the bad, even if disguised, which is what I try to extend to others, though also offering what hopefully seems like a helpful hand and a relation.