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cait-cait Jun 2018
i was holding the rifle
the way i was holding your hands ,

and they were still hot —  

so hot that
now
we are calloused ,
-
love beat me
and then i beat you —

our
hands were burned together .
.
but you smiled ,
                           and
i was the one who cried
                                         instead.

one day, someone will kiss
my scars .

someone should kiss yours, too.

the recoil will always sting ,
and i will always
bruise.
.
BIG ******* S/O TO MY EX!! he’s been so ******* kind to me and deserves so much in life. It ***** that I can’t give it to him but he’s one of the kindest people I know. I was snooping through my friends blog and I found her poetry, and got The title from a line I read in one of them. I love that friend too!
Veronika Sivka May 2018
You pushed me away
And put your past to blame?
That is not an excuse,
For you, I’d open all of my wounds again,
Hell, I’d even take a new bruise.
Spencer Smith May 2018
You're like a bruise.
Every time something touches you, you hurt, but you're fine when left alone.
I try to heal you with my touch but only hurt you.
I give you space so you heal, but you hold on so stubbornly.

You're like a cut.
I try to let you heal, but can't help but pick a little like a child,
I try to pull you off but only hurt you more.
You cling on until you heal, and then you are gone.

You're like a knife in my side.
People use you to hurt me.
They twist the knife, to inflict hurt on me.
I try to pull you out but I can't find the guts too, so you stay there, until I pull you out painfully.

Why can't you see you're hurting me?
You insist on holding onto me until you feel better,
Then you toss me off like a used garment, beyond repair,
Until you run out of other clothes to wear, so you use me.

Making me hold onto your pain until you heal.
I try to get rid of you, but only hurt you so much more, and,
You know that I love you too much for that.
So I sit and wait for you to heal, but some wounds don't heal.
Lily Apr 2018
Was the foundation not good enough,
The make-up not strong enough,
To hide what I’d been going through?
Were the bruises too large,
The cuts too deep,
To ever possibly conceal?
Was my mask of happiness too thin,
My cheerful voice too fake,
To convince them of my stability?
I knew it was all for naught,
Yet I hoped I could stay strong.
I knew nothing would protect me,
From this world where I don’t belong.
Their accusing looks, their quiet gasps,
Were enough to tell me what their hearts contained.
I’m broken, imperfect, and selfish;
And they knew.
Praggya Joshi Apr 2018
The wounded isn't as weak as you perceive
The wounds are just an evidence
Of the battles fought gallantly
Of undying courage and perseverance
A brave show of resilience
When faced with crippling tragedies
The wounded knows how it feels
To push through searing pain
When bruised skin burns
And the night forgets to end
The wounded knows the agony
Of silent screams and voiceless aches
Invisible to the naked eye
A cause of further torment
But a wounded won't ever
Drown in the waves
Of treachery and deceit
His actions are marked by prudence
He's turned wary and vigilant
The wounded is a survivor
He dares to hope tirelessly
Don't mistake him as an injured minion
His scars are a testimony of his strength
Autmn T Mar 2018
Roses are red
As red as the open wound that bleeds
Violets are blue
As blue as the bruises on my beaten heart
Sugar is sweet
As sweet as your smile turned bitter after goodbyes
And so are you
Full of sugary sweetness, rotten teeth, and stomach aches.
During a prompt from my parents who said to use a typical poem opening
Autmn T Mar 2018
I once saw a butterfly with bruised wings and, in that moment,  I understood what it felt like to break the most fragile, beautiful part of oneself
Written during a time when I felt like giving up with the possibility of love due to anothers inability to appreciate the love I was giving
Bee Feb 2018
E  v  
      e
    r
  y
so often I
like to think back on
that greasy summer- my hidden
lover. Teeth ripping into me like they
were devouring a sticky peach on a patio
near the beach; hungry and so full of desire.
Early eyes quivered as I suffered your satisfied
fingers on my thigh-  feeling the contusions that
replaced my pale pink skin. A felt existence left
devoted in moments like these-our compulsive
wrappings conceal the fortunes that can be
found only in one another. In a way, this
biblical dimension carries a perpetual
forgiveness and passion that play
together hand in hand.
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