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Bluebird Oct 2020
i got excited by the cut on my finger
and the bruise on my thigh
(got one from making art
the other from chasing fun)
i've always loved that sort of thing
proof that i'm moving and creating

people will learn things about me
just by looking

i hope that they'll take an interest
flip through my pages
hope that my title and front page
can get them to read the rest of my story

i want you to ask me how i got
that bruise
that cut
that scar

i want so badly to tell a story
I was making prints for my art class and i kept falling over while learning how to rollerblade. Loved both things and wish I could do them more.
Elizabeth Jul 2020
I am a beautiful imperfection
I am an unfinished work of art
I am flawed and bruised beyond recognition
So many ugly scars covers my heart.
Raven Woodfort Jun 2020
1.

Pain
when felt
hard enough, ceases
to be just that:
painful





2.

The sensation of
pain sometimes seems awfully
pleasant to my bones






3.

A sting makes my life
bend in beautiful
imperfection


I sip it
like a lollipop





4.

It's like the
grate of yearning
is more pleasant than
the earning,
tasting,
breathing
the dream.
Different styles in different ways, same old cold friend: pain.

(I'm not talking about cutting or physical abuse, but if you are here for either... I see you, little dove. <3)
Alex May 2020
She stretched her sleeves to cover them.
The knife cut deep on her scarred thighs.
I said I didn't mind that she hurt
Herself. Still, the hand covered the bruise.

She ate little. The mirror scoffed
Still. "Fine!" I'd say. "I'll eat alone."
I said I didn't mind that she starved
herself. Still, the hand covered the bruise.

I wish I pulled her hand.
I wish I didn't just speak.
Lately I can't eat too.
My hand covers the bruise.
Austin Morrison Mar 2020
skin left sore and damage.
My purple flesh leaves marks that signify hate within others.
Pain left from fathers and mothers, sister and brothers, friends or foe.
I  believe the skeletons I hide, have more guts than I do.
Being pushed around and abused by those close to me without fighting back.
But I know I would rather take a thousand cuts before giving one.
I may seem so well put together from the outside, but I know on the inside I have been torn apart.
This is part of a project I am doing called the colour wheel. It is a draft piece and isn't very organized right now. I would love feedback moving forward with it.
Holly Mar 2020
Some people
will have you believe
that damage can be beautiful,
and it's true
that you can find
the sunlight through the clouds.
But my trauma is not pretty.
It is an ugly bruise
that everyone thinks is okay
to poke at,
and watch the black and blue
attempt to change colours
when it heals.
There is no beauty
in crying alone at 3am,
spilling alcohol down your shirt
at a party you're only attending
to drown your issues in,
swallowing tiny little pills
to feel somewhat okay,
avoiding any comfort
because you feel you deserve less.
It is a lonely place to be,
stuck in a broken mind
with one-way windows.
I can romanticise my pain
as much as i want,
but it will always be
a toxic relationship
i have with myself.
And it is not beautiful.
N Jul 2019
She’s under my skin
like a bruise that’s
unwilling to heal

Her touch
left me trembling

Her gaze
pierced my bones

Her love
scarred my soul

I left,
when my heart
ached to be hers
Red Jan 2020
that Gigantes face
so engulfed in clouds of euphoria
teeth melt and mould
against my delirious musings
that sweat of shame
and remoulded nausea
dissipating sand of
rapacious time bruisings
make me into your perfect girl,
molded hips and perfect, full lips
top me off with a pearl
in a pretty dress of coral

i’ll do whatever you tell me to,
or i’ll end up black and blue
bruises painted like a pretty mural,
makeup painted a perfect hue

i don’t need help,
but he needs me.
and i’ll stay by his side
until he no longer sees me
FICTIONAL BUT BASED OFF OF FRIEND'S STORIES
For: Jay Randall, Huxley Densen, Sigrid Mathisen, Coty Abrams
co'brien Dec 2019
Speak to the muses blamed for your bruises—
They might say something yet.
Forget that the news is staring right through this—
Their blades with blood are wet.
You know you and I, we peer through the sky—
Feeling for fates unset.
Even though they lie about where or why—
I knew I’d ne’er forget.
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