Long Bruises Poems
Long Bruises Poems. Below are the most popular long Bruises by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bruises poems by poem length and keyword.
There're things much worse than being alone.
Like a stream of cold words cutting to the bone.
Or bruises blooming like lilacs on the face of innocents.
There's always a steel-toed skunk in a field of mint.
Nobody wants to spend their precious days
navigating paths of eggshell. and broken glass.
You don't notice the petals or bells anymore, only the horn of the coming train crash.
Day upon day you dust off the mask
because that's what dusters are expert at.
They put on rose-scented glasses and tap shoes.
Sashay into yet another flinch-battered day.
Hoping there's a patch of robin egg blue.
To temper that vast quilt of blackish decay.
One thing is always in fashion,
that polka-dot pattern of escalation.
Pinnacle of pins and green desperation.
A shallow pond of apology and reconciliation.
Things turn sweet to sour at the speed of light.
A honeymoon never shows you its darkest side.
Once there were diamonds, now there's only slag -
It's past time for a nonchalant lift off that icy crag.
Growing up,
you dream of Prince Charming—
the one who’ll set your heart free.
Spinning in hope,
you wait for the one
who’ll love you right.
And then he comes.
He’s charming, alright—
with soft words,
a warm smile,
and eyes that learn your every crack.
But not every crown shines.
Not every prince saves.
Some just learn
where to press
so it hurts without bruises.
He never raised his voice—
at least not at first.
Just small corrections,
little rules,
words that stung
with a smile behind them.
"That dress is too much."
"I only get mad because I care."
"You know how lucky you are, right?"
And she believed him.
Because love is patient.
Love is kind.
And she thought if she just loved harder,
he’d be soft again.
She learned to be quiet
before he ever yelled.
Knew how to read the room
like a battlefield.
Every breath,
every glance,
a calculation
to avoid the spark.
He never hit her.
Not with fists.
But silence can strangle.
And words can bleed.
He carved shame into her skin
with a whisper and a glance.
"Why do you always ruin everything?"
"No one else would love you like I do."
"You're lucky I stay."
So she stayed.
Locked in a house
that used to feel like hope,
now a cage with good curtains
and cold dinners.
She smiled in public.
Laughed on command.
But inside,
she was screaming
in a language
no one else could hear.
She stared at the tiled floor,
counting her breaths,
wondering how long it would take
to disappear completely.
And when the silence grew too heavy,
and the weight in her chest
felt sharper than fear—
she stopped counting.
She left no note.
No final words.
Just a quiet stillness
in a home full of noise.
The world kept spinning.
Neighbors waved.
Her name faded
into passing conversation.
He cried for cameras.
Blamed the stress.
Said, “She was always a little emotional.”
But the truth sat
on that bathroom floor.
In the shape of a woman
who gave everything
until there was
nothing left.
She didn’t die of heartbreak.
She didn’t die by choice.
She died
because no one believed
what he never bruised.
She died
because silence
can be louder than screams.
She died
because the cage didn’t look like one.
Don’t cry for me
Africa
I’ll never let you fade
Your voices echo in my heart
Your songs
They never fray
I see the pain
The silent tears
Etched deep within your soul
But in the longest
Blackest night
The Lord will make you whole
Don’t cry for me
Africa
Your prayers will rise on high
The Lord will send His hope and love
Beneath this endless sky
Lift your spirits
Raise your voice
Let every desert sing
For in the ashes of your grief
He’s growing sacred things
I hear the mothers call His name
Their hands are worn and scarred
The children dancing barefoot
Still shining in the dark
I see the fathers bending low
Yet standing in their faith
And through the dust of broken streets
He walks a hidden way
Don’t cry for me
Africa
Your prayers will rise on high
The Lord will send His hope and love
Beneath this endless sky
Lift your spirits
Raise your voice (hallelujah)
Let every valley ring
For in the bruises of your past
He’s crowning you as king
From the rivers to the red earth (oh)
He knows every name
Every village
Every heartbeat
Held inside His grace
When the world forgets your story
He remembers every line
Africa
Beloved child
His mercy is your light
Don’t cry for me
Africa
Your prayers will rise on high
The Lord will send His hope and love
Beneath this endless sky
Lift your spirits
Raise your voice
Let every heart proclaim
Africa
The Lord is near
He’s healing you by name
August 2 Scripture Meditations Based on Jeremiah 30-33
Key Verse – Jeremiah 30:17 For I will restore health unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy wounds, saith the LORD; because they called thee an Outcast, saying, This is Zion, whom no man seeketh after.
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR HEALING ME
Thank You for healing me with Your restoration
For my soul-health’s fortification
To withstand debilitating condition
In facing challenging opposition.
Thank You for healing me with Your cleansing
For my sin-wounds’ dressing
To flee from attacking transgressing
In overcoming devouring evil’s oppressing.
Thank You for healing me with Your holiness
For my iniquity-bruises’ cure-fullness
To conquer alluring temptation-heaviness
In abiding within transforming righteousness.
Thank You for healing me with Your encouragement
For my faith-wellness’ empowerment
To win against frustrating engagement
In accepting correcting chastisement.
Thank You for healing me with Your comfort
For my sorrow-travail’s gladness-resort
To fight vexing mourning retort
In moving on against lamenting report.
Thank You for healing me with Your care
For my heart-mirth’s welfare
To enjoy satisfying compassion-share
In fulfilling marching mandate-dare.
Thank You for healing me with Your peace-sufficiency
For my spirit-revival’s fervency
To serve with upholding stewardship-efficiency
In continuing with Your abounding mercy.
August 2, 2022
#Oath_of_a_breadwinner
See these bruises on my knees, feel the pain on my back, my salty skin from both sweat and blood, soaking my skin pale. This dilapidating strength in my bones, my body tattooed with scabs and scars from thriving daily to serve those I call my own. The clots in my veins from steel hammering, these scratched and rough fingers nails, my daily meal has carved.
Took an oath, to shed my last breath on the streets, fighting for crumbs, less I bring nothing back to the table, until my body shed it's last, for I have mouths waiting to be fed at home. In my bed every night a lay restless, planing and hoping for my next tap. , to atleast come back not empty handed to my house, for the pain and groaning sounds of those I hustle for, makes me to never wanna sleep ever, to wake on the street no matter how small the pay, hence I'm forever in the streets, upon my oath
My tattered clothes, shriveled shoe soles, my oath is to put food on the table, not to look clean, what's cleanless to a man with mouths to feed, when life chose it's fate for him? Someone said "sleep is for the rich" but I live to thrive, I mean I thrive to live, my oath binds me to
I'm a breadwinner, In this current world, which bread is to be won, when doors are shut daily to my face, what bread is there to win, when I'm asked of work experience and qualifications, which life never gave glimpse to breath and acquire, when at every chance it had of me, was making sure I thrive, I fight for survival not to better myself nor equip me for such? What bread is there to win, when all has taught me was slave to survive, odd jobs, bad treatment from employees, having no luxury of taking lunchbox to work, for nothing in this life was brought to me on silver platter, let alone a silver spoon in my mouth, took an oath to be a breadwinner
My oath has no assurance, no 13th checks, no guarantees that if I sleep, I might wake up the next day and everything will be alright, I limp every day with the little hope, in the dark, that at least only if I get something to lay on the table for the day. I'm not sure if this body due to exhaustion and fatigue, I won't go to the street and fall on the roadside and no one might notice me, nor maybe go to bed and never wake up again, my oath remains, to be a breadwinner.
Poetic_Ink
Breath Of My Life
In the womb of time and life every breath I take could be
my last when I expire and exhale my last wind of change
~~ I Trust You ~~
First inspiration after having floated in my maternal cushion
exiting that safe placental place of centre attached to Mother
came pink naked forceful and screaming entering this world
thus Ilse Martha Gertrud Ida must have inspired me most
~~ You Gave Me life ~~
No breast milk for me as those were ‘modern’ times after
that awful war which could have made you bitter but soft
you were kind and nourishing kept me afloat in unconditional
~~ Love ~~
When depression hit you invited me into your life and sharing was
caring and we dispensed much more than melancholy genes when
you mended hippie jeans dreams and my bruises in the patchwork of
~~ Life ~~
I have your white wild flowing hair and your father’s bad eyes that
rebellious streak and silver highlights your sports and your passion
as you gave me direction tentative creation a questioning mind and
~~ Survival ~~
When you died and my soul buried under the duvet once more
you understood and forgave that I could not witness your final
journey I only mourned and attended from very afar and so close
~~ In Desperate Tears ~~
Thank you for loving and holding me and breathing with me through
a whirlwind of challenge and mist towards growth and compassion and
for letting me go finding own inspiration in my life so very attached
~~ To Your Heart ~~
Look at my magnificent man.
So sweet and sultry and always has a plan.
Every lovely layer I pull back I find gold
When God gave me this glorious man He broke the mold.
Walking and whistling is what he does with ease.
He's always so sweet and satisfying to please.
Taking a bite out of him and take a trip to the dentist.
Any girl would be lucky to be on his love list.
However, this heavenly dream has become just mine.
He's a walking dish---so delicious and divine!
He became such a special surprise on those sultry summer days.
So refreshingly refining that he put me in a haze.
Others I find ogling at my oh so original man.
It used to brutally bother me but, now I understand---
Not many have such a sweet man to go home to.
But ladies, I'll let you look just once, and that's all I can do.
Ladies, I'll give a little advice on landing a good man.
Appreciate all his attributes, even the ones you can't stand.
His sweetness and his smile will always satisfy you.
Bumps and bruises in life will come, so learn to appreciate them too.
I feel like you pushed me over the edge.
When I fell though, you fell with me.
We fell for weeks baby.
Being in your arms felt like heaven.
Everything I had ever dreamed of.
As I was on the bottom of our fall,
Hitting the first rock was hard.
I was able to take the blow.
However we continued to fall.
On this part of the cliff face,
The fall was becoming more rocky.
Weeks passed my dear.
Your touch hurts where bruises mar.
Cold words storm my thoughts with doubt.
Every rock hits with punishing blows.
I'm questioning where my bottom is.
The Earth trembles when we hit Her.
He looks at me with beautiful dark eyes.
His shoulder length black hair frames
A perfect square jaw and a soft mouth.
Black angelic feathered wings unfurl.
He smiles devilishly down at me,
"My black witch."
His finger brushes against my neck.
The witch symbol directly under his touch,
Twitches and tingles and itches.
I close my eyes under the feeling.
It stopped. The touch. The feeling.
I opened my eyes to emptiness.
Bruised, broken and alone.
I felt guilty of who I had fallen with.
I felt a loss of connection with him.
I felt like I didn't get closure.
I lost my friend too.
Most of all, I'm hurt that I fell.
I stand by God’s well of blessings* daily
As He invites me to enjoy them tremendously.
There He assures me of His eternal presence wondrously
With His providence and protection always covering me truly!
I draw living waters from God’s well of salvation
Whenever I lose my joy because of pride and transgression.
There I remember Christ’s sacrificial work for my regeneration
With His bruises and wounds for my forgiveness and justification!
I stay freely at God’s well of contentment
As He welcomes me to His satisfying replenishment.
There He comforts my soul, so weary of worldly entertainment
With His caring instruction and admonition that cure my envy’s ailment!
I desire to get near God’s well of revival
Whenever I’m discouraged at my earthly survival.
There He empowers me to cling to Him for His approval
With His strength and might to prepare me for Christ’s arrival!
I linger joyfully around God’s well of refreshing
As He meets me to commune with Him in His nourishing.
There He listens to my plight, answers my queries, never rushing
With His enlightening wisdom and correcting counsel worth cherishing!
I quench my emptiness along God’s well of abundance
Whenever I’m impoverished out of vain struggles and fleshly compliance.
There He enriches me with trials, filled with promises of His ready guidance
With His Word of hope and cheer, polishing my faith to shine in His brilliance!
I rest beside God’s well of peace and calmness
As He greets me after laboring in His kingdom’s business.
There He offers to me triumph’s sweetness in fellowship’s closeness
With His blessings* and rewards to my faithfulness thru His loving kindness!
*Deuteronomy 28:2 And all these blessings shall come on thee, and overtake thee, if thou shalt hearken unto the voice of the LORD thy God.
May 18, 2018
Race riot
In an English town a young black man
was arrested in his home and taken to the police cell,
something about the young man who had been involved
in a brawl.
In the morning he was released without charge.
He was not his jolly self, coming home, his mother said.
He went to bed early fell asleep the slumber
continued forever.
The police got the blame, and perhaps he was beaten,
a neighbour woman said, he had bruises all over his body
as usual, when people tell lies, she talked too much.
The black community came out stood outside the police station
shouting about police brutality.
Violence arose.
There was talk of compensation for the mother´s loss.
I have a dislike of uniforms, but in this case, I believed the police
They had nothing to do with the young man´s death
The newspaper published a picture of him
He looked rather bland and ill.
I know what the verdict will be he had a weak heart and died in his sleep.
But this is not what the people will accept; the riot will go on
until the authorities, for the sake of order, pay his mother some money
and soon, the young, black man is forgotten.