Blood & Bruises
I yearn for a skinned knee
Something to tell the world that I fell
That I am here now, after that fall
And not in some sort of pathetic “look, I got back on the horse”
Sorta thing
More to show that I lived
That I let myself fall
That I let my blood fall
And stain the cement
That I did not let myself get comfortable inside the shell of my body
of my room or my books or my friends or anything
That I intentionally broke myself to let some of myself go
Because it was holding me back anyway.
Blood & Bruises 2
Sex bruises are good bruises
Blood blossoming under the skin and under a violent kiss
Is a good thing
How else can we remember that something is inside us
Some sort of animal beast ripping to get out
If there is no darkening of the skin, aching at the touch,
Stabbing pain?
Bodies are soft soft things
And lust is hard and cruel and disciplining.
Sex bruises are best.
Blood & Bruises 3
My mother always told me not to scratch
At my scabs
Because scars, she said, are ugly things
And I will not tell you they are gorgeous
Not in any skewed definition or light
Are scars pretty, harmless things of beauty
But I love mine, and I stroke them soft and faded into my skin
Wounds burned and etched and weathered in
Between the particles of my body
So I scratch till they bleed again
And I stretch till they fall off and regain feeling
I want them forever, to adorn my body
With the pithy history of my falls and pains and moments of oblivion
For all the nights I never remembered, but which my clothes and head did
Do I keep these scars
So when I scratch and stretch can I feel
Them again.
