The bruise on my ankle,
from three days ago,
unloading my trunk,
when the suitcase wheels
slam into it
scraping the skin
and leaving bruises--
reminds me of all my other wounds
my battle scars and gaping wounds
so many over so little time,
comparatively.
The largest scars surface
so easily now,
and I remember them
if only for a moment
just to remember
where I came from
and who I am.
I'm left with aching insides,
fire licks up the back of my throat,
my nose stuffed up,
and my eyes and shirt still damp.
I press my toes into the bruise
on my ankle,
from the suitcase wheels
three days ago,
and relish the temporary pain,
the physical pain,
the pain that will fade
in a matter of days.
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 4:00 AM UTC
The bruise on my ankle,
from three days ago,
unloading my trunk,
when the suitcase wheels
slam into it
scraping the skin
and leaving bruises--
reminds me of all my other wounds
my battle scars and gaping wounds
so many over so little time,
comparatively.
The largest scars surface
so easily now,
and I remember them
if only for a moment
just to remember
where I came from
and who I am.
I'm left with aching insides,
fire licks up the back of my throat,
my nose stuffed up,
and my eyes and shirt still damp.
I press my toes into the bruise
on my ankle,
from the suitcase wheels
three days ago,
and relish the temporary pain,
the physical pain,
the pain that will fade
in a matter of days.
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