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Sadie Grace Jul 9
I'm bruised but I'm alright
cut and bleeding but still in the fight
I'm needing a reason ~ maybe a few
to get through this season
on to something new

We're halfway through the year that wasn't supposed to come
Halfway through the fear
I won't succumb to it
The tears I've become numb to drip down my hard face
A scarred ankle ~ the place I ran back to when I thought He ran out of grace for me
Rosie Toes Sep 2021
You may be fooling everybody else, but you are not fooling me. I can see the show you put on to allow others the comfort of thinking you are okay, even though you are not. You do not want anyone to feel the pain of your shattered glass. The constant jokes and silly stories, used as a distraction to deter them from looking you in your eyes and seeing someone who is still stained from their past. They call you a jokester, and you like it, for you would rather be called goofy than bruised. You leave hints that grant a select few access to peek through the cracks, but hardly ever letting them see it all. If someone were to ask you, would you draw back the curtains and show them the full work in progress? I want you to realize that a stained glass window is more beautiful than a clean and clear one. You have the ability to show others that although previously broken, a stained glass window can become a masterpiece.
I see you
Fame Flame Feb 2021
Scars, that I’ve been hiding all my life
With scarves
Bruises, witness of what the truth is
Red eyes, brimming pearls of lost truces
Yelling, Blaming and banners of ‘Deserved it’
Never saw the alarm signs
They were not bold enough, like me
Always told that I’m fine, when I couldn’t even breathe
Maybe it’s been hash on me lately and
I don’t wanna make you too feel low
Maybe just pull me closer and never let me go
Cause the scars are now aching
And the bruises, deep blue
The pearls are now sold for ground breaking news
The yelling has me shaken; I stand with heart that’s broken
Too many times like my body
But you’re innocent, oddly.
Scarves, that have been hiding scars for long
I put them free
Cause I again, wanna feel like me.
This work was inspired by the constant headlines of ****** assaultment and abuse, regardless of gender. As a teeneger myself, all these thoughts take over me,as I take out my pen and paper and ponder the pain.
To all the fighters out there who've gone through immense and unimaginable extents of mental trauma, I give you this work of poetry. More power to you!
Him Jan 2021
I will love you, until we are black and blue; bruised by these pains and pleasures, that I offer you.
I assure you this, I am not a sadist. 😂
Ziv Dec 2020
There she had stood,
hundreds of feet up in the cold, thinning air.
The clouds tangled themselves around her ankles like chains;
The wind was nothing but a low, cynical whisper in her ear.

As tears relentlessly roll down the girl’s face,
She begs to be encased in the lulling voice of the city below,
To ignore the wretched murmurs of the rain
That pelted her skin like bullets.

But, the thud of hands around her middle
Ripped her body back into the wall of his confinement.
His breathing felt heavy and diseased on her neck,
Her own hair became the rope she’d be killed with.

Barely a slice through the air,
Her screams merely dissipated
Out into the black of the bruised world around her,

She was alone now
And no one was ever going to find her.
This was one of the first poems that I wrote and was genuinely proud of.  Of course, that was years ago, but we all start somewhere, right?
J Dec 2020
you say that you,
when something happens,
choose fight over flight.
yet. whenever I'm in trouble
or sad
or panicking
or numb
or angry
or bloodied
or bruised
you run, you freak out, you leave, you
you fly away, raven.
so perching myself on this boney finger
of Death's
I, the crow, will caw
until you return
"to protect."
u h h
Denise Uy Oct 2020
The wall is my punching bag
and your face is my inspiration.
Even when my knuckles sag,
there is no hesitation.

I have bruises on my fingers
but it is not the wall's fault.
It is the surge of my anger's
and they make my fists stronger.

The poison you poured in me
is overflowing the bottle.
Every punch the wall meets
is every sip of my struggle.

The pain is sinking in
and it feels worse than the bruises.
It's buried deeper within
so I dig but it refuses.

The wall is nothing
to what festers inside.
My punches do nothing
and there is nowhere to hide.

The disease is within me
and it is thriving in my mind.
The only way out is nowhere in sight.
I looked to my fists to set myself free
but my fists have no eyes
so I cannot see.

Now, my arms deserve to rest.
I'll even bid them a good night
because today won't be the worst
and I'll need them another time.
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