When you hear the word "hammer" you may think of it as a tool for pounding a nail onto a wall, to hang a beautiful painting done by a beautiful girl, or to hang a beautiful family photo of a beautiful family.

Or maybe you think of building. Building a house, building a swing set, just those stupid belts those stupid builders hold those stupid hammers in.

But it's rare to have someone think of a hammer as a weapon.

To think of a hammer as a ****** weapon, as the weapon that's bagged, locked deep in the chambers of the evidence room.

As the weapon used by the murderer, and how their twisted mind thought of using a hammer to take someone's life away.

But it's even more rare to think of a hammer as a self harm tool.

It's  even more twisted to think that a person would take a hammer to their own skin, and pound it over and over again until their skin turns red, and then to such a scary bruise you would think it belonged in movies.

That they would keep bruising themselves with that hardware tool until they're shaking so hard they can't even hold the hammer anymore, it feels too heavy in their shaky hands.

Until they fall to the ground, covered in bruises just because they think they'll go away faster than what a razor blade could do.

But little do they know, the shaking is worse than any bruise or cut could ever be.

Why can't a hammer just be a simple hardware tool again?

The child kept pulling down his sleeves to hide the bruises from the one who he called mother. He felt so much pain and so much hurt and not because his skin was blue and purple but because his heart was too.All he did was try to make her proud but she wouldn't even look him in the eyes to say hello, and what came down to it all she said she had no son she could recall. He couldn't break the constant thoughts going through his head, who would of figured he'd put a bullet there instead...

There are bruises on the insides of my thighs from your hip bones
and bruises on my lips from your teeth.
There is a bruise on my chin from bumping heads while we slept
and a bruise on my heart from the words that fell out of your mouth.

These bruises are reminders
That *** is clumsy
Kissing is sometimes better when you're smiling
Sleeping together is messy and beautiful
And words leave marks that will never fade.

Bruises in a positive light; what a concept.

have your heart given back to you
shattered and bruised multiple times
then come and ask why im so bitter

It was the way you carried yourself,
as if universes scratched at your shoulders
and the care you kept neatly inside
was killing you slowly.

I remember the words you spoke
as if they were poking, pressing
at your already bruised ribs;
as if they climbed up your throat
holding ice hooks and torches.

I buried them deep as they'd go
in the sweat-drenched sheets,
hoping you wouldn’t remember
or want  to search for them.

But one night I awoke
to an unfamiliar breeze,
those sheets untangled and draping
halfway out the open window.


I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe.

You might have seen the smile on his face,
and heard the laughter full of lies
But did you see the scars on his arm,
and the tears in his eyes.
Have heard the pain in his voice,
and seen the bruises on his thighs?
He's been broken for years and no one has a clue on why.