These bruises,
Bring so much pain,
It's a wonder how I'm alive.

I can feel the air coming into me,
Filling this hollow cavity.

I act as if I feel nothing,
But the pain you bring me,
Makes me feel everything.

You bend me,
You break me,
Telling me you're making the,
"Perfect me".

This thing,
This,
Abuse.
Escorts self-hate into my life.

Makes me hate me,
And what I am.

I wish I was nothing,
Even if I truly am something.

The bruises you leave,
Decorate my body like graffiti,
Splotches of purples, pinks, and blues,
My body, the canvas.

I feel nothing,
I feel everything.

Abuse.
Why?

"Today's a painful reminder
Of why it can only get brighter.."

There are many
it seems
that are wounded
by life

Yes, wounded
they didn't fall
from a tree
but were beaten

as broken souls
they wander around
unable to tend to their wounds
or inject morphine

but don't cry!
bruises heal
as the roots of burnt grass
spawn regrowth