Blood and Bruises

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Credit: Natalia Drepina

The darkest bruises hurt the least, which is ironic. Even when I dig my fingers into them, they don’t hurt. The cuts hurt more. Thick blood

drips

down

the wall

behind my bed

I stow the razor in my dresser drawer. He hurts me, so I hurt myself.

Bruises don’t look pretty, but he says I’m ugly, so it doesn’t matter. My skin is dark-spotted like a leopard’s but I can’t run away to the wild. Wilder than people who smear blood on their faces for

protection

but I can’t protect myself

from him.

These bruises spread across my skin like ink.

I use it to etch my story on my soul, knives

c   a   r   v   i   n   g

i    n    t    o

s     k     i    n

A heart ❤ Three lines | | | One for me, one for him, and one for us. There is love, there is bruised skin, open veins. Screaming. He only hits me harder when he sees the scars.


Based on the prompt, “Write the colors purple and red without mentioning them once.” I also wrote this with my friend, Maya. You can find her at mrahmanrios.wordpress.com.

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