Punching a Bruise
My fingers press on
blue batterings
for the craft of lavishing
all the things that mattered
not a week ago.
I try to hate you
like a sticker on my puckered mouth
to take the light from my eyes
to make you rage and lash
crashing your jaw to think
that I don't love you
To incite you to be an animal
to make you wrong
to diguise my guilt
like beating my own hands
and making a messy red
confusing the culprit and victim
If I am blue, there's not pain
I can escape if I fall where I stand
by your hand, my bruises won't ache
these stinging scrapes know the red shape
of your fist, my comfort, my peace
rolling in sticker bushes
held hard to your young face
only happy, like a radio song
hands planted in wealth
my soft heart, my eden
pulling me out like a flower
toppling my knees like towers
tracing circles on my skin
How can I not win?
Copyright © Allison Ballard | Year Posted 2012
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