sometimes i sleep so long i forget to eat.
i think it’s supposed to hurt like bruises blooming purple on my skin,
so i press my thumbs against the moons under my eyes like checking fruits for ripeness.
my room has began collecting things:
half-drank glasses of water and trash spilling out the bin.
my teeth fall off every night in my dreams.
june creeps in quietly and it comes in every shade of blue.
i numb myself to avoid every thought but you.
i keep leaving my curtains closed the whole day
yet i ask myself where are the sun rays.
i just keep hoping this will all just fix itself.
while you’re out there living your mornings im drowning in my own dread.
maybe tomorrow it’ll be august instead.
maybe tomorrow the rotten fruit will be dead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After the collision, the skin remembers~
a slow bloom of violet, tender beneath fingertips.
Like storm clouds gathering under the surface,
these marks whisper in shades of yellow and blue.
They are maps of impact, soft archives
where the body keeps its quiet reckonings.
Fading hope, a swallowed scream~
proof that even silence can bruise.
I was the sin you committed in the forbidden twilight
Oh darling -
We were a fever, not forever!
Yearning for a fated phantom.
A feverish temptation;
You fed me illusions, sweet as poison,
Only to shatter the blighted world we held close,
When I hungered for your poisonous embrace!
Cherry lips and empty promises.
A candle in the hurricane,
I was the perfect almost you desired -
A kiss carved in smoke.
(Blood, Sweat and Bruises)
In the heart of the arena, beneath the sparkling lights' blaze,
Two warriors clash, in a ballet of force and haze.
Bodies slamming canvas, sweat and adrenaline entwined,
Each grappler seeks to prove their mettle and bronze, leave the other far behind.
In the shadows of the locker room, secrets linger, dark and profound. Tales of triumph and tragedy, forever bound. Through blood and tears, these gladiators ascend, their legends carved in flesh and bruises, forever transcendent. *pulls back slightly, fixing you with an intense, smoldering gaze.
In the shadows of the locker room, secrets linger, dark and profound. Tales of triumph and tragedy, forever bound. Through blood and tears, these gladiators ascend, their legends carved in flesh, forever transcendent.
bruises scars and stretch marks
the sum total of diverse past experiences
~ I am strength and stamina
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
what did you do
what have i done
we both know it started out fun
what has gotten into you
is it going to affect me
when you're like this i hold my bated breath, dying for the need to breath
now you are broken
not wanting to be fixed
i've heard all you're excuses
but you still left me with bruises
i sit in a corner tending to my wounds
you sit there counting the afternoons
i sit there in bed
thoughts spinning 'round my head
i'm thinking so hard about who to believe
you, or me
so one day in years to come
we will start anew
because someday my bruises will heal
and so will you
Beneath the fury of sun
Wades a wobbly nun
Stomping on thorns
Her soul burnt and torn
Scars on her skin
Carried wounds engraved
Trust, her sin
So were snakes she once craved
She sucked and spitted
Bouts of venom from her blood
Tainted by flood
Of emotions she once knitted
Silence crept loud
In the woods still stern
Moon upturns
Summoning weeping clouds
Tears unfolden
The woven maze
Outside the haze,
Lies a fern pretty golden
Threads, now vines
Adored her bruises
Illusion's penchant to divine's
Were flood sailed cruises
Time passed by,
Venom decays
Has been watching the sky
The fern now sways
The bruises you leave
are hidden inside,
where only your eyes
can see
and others not realize
the depth of your
emotional depravity
flowing through my veins
like blood
upon which you feed
until I am drained
and you move on.
May God bless all, of the children,
and ease their mortal pain.
I trust that you have your reasons,
and this life has not been in vain.
They say that our life is a gift,
could that really be true for all?
What about incest and rape,
or the fuel driven rage of alcohol?
Many children will live their young lives,
without a hug or even a kiss.
Most of us won’t even notice,
I guess ignorance must be bliss.
Instead of passing swift judgement,
or picking up and throwing those stones.
Maybe reach out and help a child,
before the bruises and broken bones.
Upon the canvas of my heart, I paint,
With words as brushes, colors & love's constraint,
In metered lines, my soul's emotions flow,
In voice, this love I long to show.
The world may wonder at my quiet ways,
But in my verses, love forever stays,
A whispered secret in each tender word,
A song of passion, yet so seldom heard.
The meter beats, like heartbeats in the night,
Each syllable a flicker of love's light,
And though I dwell in solitude's embrace,
In words and meter, love finds its place.
Oh, love, the muse that guides my trembling hand,
In voice, you'll always understand,
In simple words, I pen my heart's decree,
In metered verses, love's eternity.
:: 09.18.2023 ::
Poked just once and you left a hole
stole what was in my arsenal;
Wounded with a laceration
now closer to no emotion;
Pincushion heart takes every prick,
the act can be so sadistic;
A needle’s eye a gaping wound,
bitterly mauled and then consumed;
So much space to make a mess of
thinking you fit me like a glove;
Softer than you want to admit
the marks remain after the hit;
Each stab paints a different color
bruises that look just like amour.
I will tell you a sorrowful tale of an ancient time
when the turning years carved grooves into vinyl,
a time that changed everything and nothing.
He was a lad, a stripling, knobble kneed and roughly handled.
A youth with a common history told a thousand times
in any slum-clamped town.
A cultural weather mellowed him,
it gave the young a way to be poets, cynics, heedless pundits.
Rainbow children beguiled; they wed their minds
to a street corner weed, past its vows between them.
Then it was that mop haired songsters
again stirred his angry blood; he defied ruler and book,
forsook the hierarchies of the hard boiled,
long hair grew into words that shook as he danced
defying the soft shells of faceless egg men.
The boy drifted, still raw-boned, still trapped
by the rats in his head. Jail house beckoned;
bars griped his knuckles tight.
One night he became a storm in a windowless room.
They held his body down, beat it black and blue.
All he could think of as fists pounded broken ribs,
was if he yet lived, he would write it all out one day
yet still leave out the bad parts.
I want to write
And I cannot in the daytime
I find myself confused
As if my mind has been bruised
I stutter in the night
And I am jittery when I fight
Yet I try to write
When everything is bright
I find myself in the night
Even if it takes all my might
I’m at peace in the dark
Within sight of my mark..
Bruises
Ahh (sighs)..
Where to start
Oh God of the heart:
Perhaps in the birdsong
Or the crisp morning light
On this bench that is warm
And where worries take flight.
I pick up this pen
And the words tumble out
Not knowing just how to now
Cry, laugh or shout..
But with ink on the page
It is all making sense
A return to the lightness
When the walk has been dense
A rest for my soul
Even though it is fleeting
So I meet with you now
While my heart is still beating
To that tune You gave me..
A long time ago
I play it sometimes
With it's rhythm so slow.
And the whispering words
That are gentle and kindly
Close my eyes to that tune
So Your voice can remind me..
.. of love
And of hope
And of beauty and gladness
Like a spirit-filled balm
For the bruising of sadness.
And I thank You
For all that You've done
And restored.
You are a good friend and companion,
A saviour and Lord.
Jinjagoliath
2nd June 2022
---
"Arise, shine; for the light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee."
- Isaiah 60:1
this heart of mine
a little bruised and battered
accumulated matters
episodes and interludes
wins and losses
how they took their toll
there were times we thought
our hearts would turn to stone
but we grew stronger
and managed to keep going
somehow rising above
chin up, rolled with the punches
we’re not who we used to be
a bit less bruised and battered
AP: 3rd place 2022
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