your hands once held me like,
father to new born son.
with such profound delicacy,  
afraid to harm.

now you treat me like your art work [¡]
not in thatsweet, cheesy kind of way
but in that
hate, despise at the same **** time
kinda way..

These blue and purple Marks, all over my body
all from you.
my skin is your paper
those fists became the brush

you, ink my body like you own it.
carve your way through as though trying to produce a statue out of me.
glowing with colours i have never seen before. stop using my skin to compete with the rainbow. i am not an experiment. do not create new colours on my skin.
...
fist is spray can.
punch- graffiti's
no place left untainted.
no area unpainted.  

[though]

with every swing,
i scream i love you.
every healing scar,
yells it forgives you.
my skin salutes you .
your masterpiece commends you.

one day,  remember me as GOD'S temple again?

[and]

i hope you never have scars from hands that once loved you,
hands that once glorified your body.  holding it high like the touch of liberty

may you, never feel a physical paintbrush
roughly
brushing against your skin.

i pray.
your fists get tired of hitting
and your body, tired of fighting.