Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
chichee Dec 2018
Other girls get
Fistfuls of tulip and
primrose,
But my love knows me
better.
Painted across skin are
All my favourite colours
Redorangeblueblackpurple-
I always get the
Prettiest blooms.
Thought of this in the bathroom brushing my teeth, thinking about the goodness in bad things.
gleck Mar 2016
I feel my outsides crack.
Please I beg, I take it back.
A set of white teeth glisten.
Bad words, mad words, I still listen.

With your fingers you paint me purple and blue.
Each spot a slightly different hue.
Then in front of other's I wear a mask.
"I'm clumsy" - I tell those who ask.

You are all bark- yet you bite.
I shiver in fright.

You tell me I'm small.
What am I to you, a nut?
Mr. Nutcracker.
Not based on  any of my experiences
outside in the dark with a broken heart
you said you loved it when my blood shed,
said that **** was art
I'm thinking over how your eyes shined in the bright night sky
you said it's nothing - it's not scary scary -
but won't tell me why
you held my arm down in the bathroom, see it all pour out
said get to class, gave me a kiss
don't let them know about
the scars put on me or the bruises that have yet to heal
I won't say nothing, you'll still love me
that was now the deal
I'm on sidewalk high as ****, don't know my whereabouts
this LSD must keep my mind straight
now I'm crying out
you said it's nothing, just some stress you release with a fist
my jaws sits crooked, my heads dizzy,
there's blood on my wrist
she wore the smile on her face just like a loaded gun
said keep them blisters covered up
and don't tell anyone
from shaving razors and the needles you hide behind your back
I'm like a doll, just like a pin cushion
that's blue and black
you said you loved me but you'd trade me for a cigarette
now I'm just smoking all 19
the thunder makes 'em wet
outside in the street walking towards the cars
I'd rather die then watch you use me,
giving me more scars
harlee kae Mar 2015
i forgot all the names
i gave to your hurts
and i suppose that's me
moving on
Hanna C S Jul 13
The first time was in the bathroom
Of a club I was four years too young for;
Lessons will be learnt;
Bent over a broken sink;
With my face pressed against the mirror;
My mascara ran rivers down the glass
Carving lines that looked like prison bars.
With rough hands;
He reached inside me;
And broke instruments I hadn’t yet touched;
No wonder I can’t play love songs,
I am still learning how to make love to people I actually love;
But my 14 years were too few to be angry
Didn’t quite know how
Didn’t know quite what he’d done;
And what that might do.
So I hid my thighs and ribs for three weeks ashamed;
My fake ID collected dust
Buried beneath my bed and self-blame.

That first encounter,
Left me frozen in an un-safe
space I couldn’t name
So I wanted time to stop its ticking,
Hold its breath and bite it’s tongue with me
An indefinite moment of silence to commemorate the crime committed,
But lessons would be learnt
As to my horror the cogs in the clocks kept rolling,
Every day since has stacked upon the last,
Racking up years
15: it took more than 365 days to dare to share the guilt,
16:  over 730 to absolve myself,
17: 1095 to say what had happened out loud.

The second time was in my kitchen,
He was a friend between blurred lines;
And ten drinks too many;
Lessons will be learnt.
I don't remember leaving with him
Or getting home.
But I’ve never known how to have *** sober so I guess it’s my fault too.
I woke up with an ache and my shoes still on.
There were no bruises; we are still friends; and I still don’t know who to blame.

The third time,
I was walking home, the air was fresh,
I had my headphones on;
Lessons will be learnt.
His fingers were dry and nails sharp as I froze;
It felt familiar;
His breath was hot;
Soaked wet with alcohol.
The bricks hit my back hard
But I like to think my knuckles hit harder.
I saw my mother the week after
I did not cry as I explained a  purple hand.
At least I had known where to aim it.

The fourth time,
I knew he was dangerous and I liked it,
Lessons will be learnt
With my hands bound above my head
He took control and mine with it;
He savoured every scream I spat;
So I, silently simmering, left my body there sickly still.
I am not a believer
but I told him he’d rot in a hotter part of hell
As he unbuckled me with a malboro red and a laugh that I choked on
So I took the cigarette and gave him a dose of what the devil will do for me,
A small vengeance that burnt like the venom in my veins

I have felt like flames so many times now
Been consumed by violent flickers,
That set this bloodied body ablaze,
But even the biggest bonfires burn out,
And I am no different
My bones are black with char like wearied wood
So when I take the train home I count my bruises;
I'm unsure which ones were left without consent.
there is no such thing as non-consensual ***. There is only *** and assault.
That being said, when it happens so many times, you start to wonder who is really to blame. I don't like this poem, and I'm sure I will rewrite it many times - But certain things must be said.
Ilunga Mutombo Dec 2018
Insecurity made him paint her beautiful face with bruises
Chocking her with so much passion
Anger his motive, their love became an illusion
Blood boiling, heart pumping, veins popping
Tears flowing, mascara running
while their child's crying
She became a victim of abuse
Getting used, destroyed, betrayed
By the one she loved, adored, and praised

She cried out loud
Love is not supposed to hurt this bad
As she traced the bruises he left on her body
A signature to let her know that he owns every inch of her body

He is the reason she will forever be lonely
JayceeJellies Oct 2014
People just don't understand that my scars are part of what make me who I am,
I may have created them out of foolishness,
but they were debated over agony in the purist.
You may look at me differently because of them,
and of course I understand that,
they are not what make me pretty, nor friendly.
But they remind me that I am not always correct about everything.
They remind me that pain is real.
That I can feel whatever I want to feel in this insane world,
and even though I did make them myself,
I can remember the pain that was felt that in fact inspired them.

and now late at night when the silence creeps in,
I cannot sleep because I remember back then.
and the pain that you dealt may have been done in secret,
but either way you knew that I would hear it, and I will not say a word of hate towards you,
because we were small people in the middle of the sea.
And when I look down I have a constant reminder of that,
but I am stonger now, because of all the tears you caused me to cry.
I will stand taller now, because of your cruelties towards me.
I'll know not to cry next time.
Because in that situation it made things worse.
Hanna C S Jul 13
And I hope you don't notice the rip in my underwear;
Burnt into the fabric by a since forgotten love affair.
I hope you don't notice the scratches she left behind;
Or the bruises he hid between the crevices there.
So as I show you my skin,
And pass it into your care,
I hope you still want me,
Fully aware,
You are not the first explorer,
Nor last lone-traveller,
To build a bed upon this body lain bare.
Mari Jul 17
It takes a week to heal the bruises.
It takes an eternity
to heal the bruise in my heart.
lenore Apr 2017
My words drip colors:

They do not breathe
Through consonants and vowels;

They do not seethe
With passion or sorrow;

They do not aim like arrows;
They do not trip on talons.

My words make chaos:

They overfill
My bones and marrow;

They slip and spill
Through cracks so narrow;

The raising of an eyebrow;
The mumble through a mouthful.

My words come back to me:

They find release in hands and fists,
(that hit and hit and hit)

They seek reprieve in tears and drinks,
(that drip and drip and drip)

They bloom like flowers
(not on my lips as I speak -
but upon elbows and knees)

My words drip colors, and so color me.
KM Hanslik Jun 2018
We were laying down our lives
from the beginning, but we didn't know
how cold the nights could be
or how heavy our feet would sound
on wooden floors, we didn't know we were built
for more than coughing up new ways
to pass time, no we were only
practicing for this,
we were only fighting for our lives,
we were only cutting out new patterns & fitting ourselves with
our wrung-out hopes & dreams,
but those fell limp & we didn't realize
there was anything else
I didn't realize these shards in my lungs were leftover
from the first time learning how to crash & burn, the fall left bruises printed
up and down my arms,
under my ribs, but I thought that was
a good thing, I thought
we're supposed to fight for what we love
we're supposed to feel the pain
but,
we are only a billion lonely strangers
laying down our lives here, I'm hoping
you'll pick mine up before it gets trampled on again
although we really do make the finest doormats
for feet heavier than ours, maybe
we will remain in the dust & the sand until
we are buried, or our throats are filled so that we can't ask whose deadweight
we carry today;
so come lie to me,
tell me that this all goes away
I'm tired of playing in the shade by myself, I need fresher dreams
bigger things than childhood fantasies
they tell me I am only make believe
I am only a lonely star, I am only pretending
they don't see the corners I cut or the nightmares I chase,
the graves I dig just to survive, just to bury
the rot of older skins I shed on the daily,
we don't like the way the gas in the atmosphere
hides the stars so we seek
open spaces & we lay our hearts in felt-lined boxes thinking
they'll be safer there than in our chests, because our chests might be
caving in tomorrow
compressed under the weight of passerby, if you need me I'll be here
(we didn't know how cold the nights could be)
I'll be laying down my life over here.
SimpleWritings Dec 2018
Love
Such a complex concept
Am I loved?
Do I love?
What is love?

I dream of a love that consumes me
that is pure and genuine
that makes me feel appreciated
and that doesn't belittle me
I want a love that is bigger than reason
that comes naturally
that overcomes all obstacles
and that strikes like lightning
I long for a love that resembles the sun
that radiates independently of choice
that makes me want to love myself
and that doesn't come with conditions
A love that allows me to grow
be who I want to be
and doesn't bruise me

Love
Such a complex concept
Am I loved?
Do I love?
I think I know what love is
And it's not this

09/02/2012
gracie Sep 2018
Tell me the story of the fawn,
white-spotted, damp-eyed,
lying still on the roadside;
how the forest mourned for days,
twisting and churning its leaves
against the ashen sky.
Tell me the story of tragedy,
wind beneath the wings of Icarus
on his journey to the sun;
how he closed his eyes and smiled,
basking in freedom’s warmth
before plummeting back to earth.
Tell me the story of youth,
wild and tender, dancing barefoot
as though we were made of nothing
less than bruises and blackberry wine;
how I'd let love destroy me,
crashing
the car
if it meant dying in your arms.
Britney Lyn Jan 2018
Cannot sleep, all these memories are haunting me; purple and blue, a gift from you.
Will they stay? When will they fade?
To die like the happiness that seems to have left me, oh so heavy.
Take this heart, stomp out all the little pieces you created, all the pieces that you hated.
Hide my face away from the hidden, show me only to the blind.
Trust is not something that is easily given, especially from this heart of mine.
Lying on the ground, where you struck me down; battered, betrayed, I pray for the day.
Someone save me, for I am too shattered to do so myself, someone save me from this life that is my hell.
Help.
I wrote this piece 6 years ago today.
grace Dec 2017
you* *should sleep.

i can't. are you   tired?

no, i wanna talk to you.

sunlight streaming through windows,
       soft skin,
             a dream with warm brown eyes,
a sleepy snowfall of kisses and snowflakes stuck to eyelashes,
   honey spilling over the floor,
              love spilling through lips,
sleep stuck under fingernails and pulling mouths into long drawn out yawns,
              the night leaving its soft bruises under eyes,
hearts beating slow as the sun creeps its way up through the sky,
              time dripping like molasses

goodnight

goodnight

i love you

*i  love you too

                            corners of mouths
when blackened eyes have gone numb
blood weeps out corners of mouths
when blackened eyes have gone numb
blood weeps out corners of mouths
when blackened eyes have gone numb
blood weeps out corners of mouths
when blackened eyes have gone numb
blood weeps out corners of mouths
when blackened eyes have gone numb
blood weeps out corners of mouths
when blackened eyes have gone numb
blood weeps out corners of mouths
when blackened eyes have gone numb
blood weeps out corners of mouths
when blackened eyes have gone numb
blood weeps out corners of mouths
when blackened eyes have gone numb
blood weeps out                              



-
by Aleksander Mielnikow (Alek the Poet)
Eve Stumpges Jun 2018
Blood is red,
Bruises are blue.
Air is my lifeline,
And so
are you.
Just so we all know I am not currently in an abusive relationship thankfully :)
I came upon a dandelion  
An ordinary, common ****.
Most people don't look twice
Unless it infected their gardens.
Then it is uprooted, stem and head.
Thrown away and then forgotten.

But that **** meant something different to me

It was sunshine and laughter
Bouquets made of thistle and lavender
Bunched together and given to my mother
It was rolled up jeans
That perfect summer breeze
Cuts and bruises on my knees

It was my childhood

Memories that I can't quite grasp
But what I can remember is the bright yellow,
Stark against the grass
KM Hanslik Jul 2018
Keep your eyes soft and your dreams
up on the highest shelf so you won't take them down too early;
keep everything that you spill in the dark locked
behind your teeth during the day, don't bring it out before dusk;
like secrets we drip over sidewalk cracks
from cotton-candy sticky fingers and leave our names
dissolved under each other's tongues, the warmth of you is keeping me company
as I try to crawl out of my blood again, they told you to leave
a bread-crumb trail in case your heart becomes too watered down by just visiting
to even remember the vacation at all; you carry
kisses on the knuckles of amputated arms,
driving through parking lots with your seatbelts on,
collections of constellations growing
in the bruises on the insides of your thighs, reminders
of salt & the whites of your eyes;

I'll always carry you around
like scuffed knees and the last time I told you "I'm okay",
I wanna press my fingers into you until your skin is melded
with fire and scraps of things that I could never be,
I hope steel rods grow out of your bones and I hope you gather
bruises before you gather dust,
we are all a little lost and lonely but that never stopped
the accumulation of well-spent nights
coughing up new ways to spell my name
(it sounded foreign before you)
leave this on repeat,
we're going in again.
Next page