only ever caught a glimpse of love off of your windshield
nothing more than a reflection

closest encounter of such was when the windscreen shattered upon intimacy,
leaving these….. bruises i can’t get over

a colour somewhere in between azure and lavender that remains unclassified and unlabelled as of now
things without a name, like majority of the past and various faces.
i’ll admit i’ve lost sight of some.

some i’ve spent trying to recollect in contrast of being haunted by various locations i’ve yet to gather the courage to re-encounter
unavoidable, i’ve learnt.
too many to count using just two hands.


you’ve sewn the teensy bits of sadness in between your fingers
if anything they’re filling the gap that managed to find its way to you
scarred and bruises but darling you look fine, if not better off.

when it’s your time to go, wouldn’t you want the cuts to show?

how many drugs,
or bruises
or breakdowns
or anxiety attacks
or sighs
or fake smiles
or silence
it will take
until someone,
a n y o n e
realizes that I,
need saving.

Constellations of broken blood vessels
Create a galaxy on my fair skin
The solar system that is my body
Becomes tainted by you.
Shades of purple and red change
To yellow and green;
An aurora borealis of lust.

Tania slurps her cheap beer and uncrosses her legs,
exposing fresh bruises from the soup factory.
She outlines them in marker and draws
a smiley face on one located on her right thigh.
These bruises tell me that my life is composed
almost entirely of bad decisions, she says,
replacing the cap on the marker. I ask how
a decision could form such a perfect,
purple circle. Between swallowing
beer and peering into the rain,
she burps. I can't say, but--
I mean, do you want
to have ***? Later on
I drive her to the
hospital and I visit
a therapist. For
a few months.

I remember it,
it was a warm Tuesday evening
and we were stumbling to the bus stop
that stood on the side
of the busy town centre street,
she was being herself,
telling me how terrible
I am
and how she hates every inch of me,
then she leaned in to kiss me;
this would happen nearly every day
but that warm Tuesday evening,
something clicked;
I took the anger I had felt for so long
and painted it on her body
with bruises
shades of purple,
yellows and blues;
she left me the next day
for a pretty boy she had met
a few days earlier;
we were never going to work;
she was crazy
and I was crazy for her;
that 'love' did not bring me joy
and hope,
it brought me suicidal thoughts
and hard liquor;
I still remember it,
the day I broke into a million
tiny little pieces;
I still find myself searching
for those pieces
and it kills me every time
I realise I can never get them back;
but I am trying
to re-build myself
with the little pieces
I managed to cling on to
in the shock of the fall

I asked a six year old
What she thought love was
And her response was
Simple
She told me that
“Love is coloring outside the lines,
Because no matter what,
They will always love
Your drawing”
And her answer was simple but
It kept me awake at night
Because I never showed you the deep
Purples that bruised my thoughts
And the black scribbles that were
Supposed to be organized
But instead went everywhere
And the painful reds
followed by pale pinks
Because I began to believe
That a six year old knew more
About love than
Me

You tell me about the bruise you got today
How even though you carefully avoided him
His pleading words started nipping at your toes
Like a new puppy
At first it sounds like a good idea but once you take that little bundle of joy  home it will turn into the Tasmanian devil and destroys everything in its path
But you wouldn't know
On the outside you love dogs
But deep down inside you're afraid
You've told me
The tears swimming in your eyes
Threatening at any second to defy you

You are not perfect
We are all made of deformities
Of awkward angles
Puzzle pieces
So that one day we can find our match

Love is a battlefield
Full of scars and bruises
The blue turning into a deep purple before it can get better
It's so hard to not step on the land mines of emotion
The ***** traps of hatred
But you have a shield
A bullet proof vest that will block you from those fears
But it can only withstand so much

Permanent bruises on my legs
(I'm a peach),
but I don't mind them.
Reminding me when I'm alone,
(that I wasn't)-
you left me sweet thumb-sized poems.