Bruises

Trigger Warning.

Black and blue and purple and yellow,

I never saw a bruise,

Outside of Google Photos,

Or so I thought

Till I began to count-

1. 

The growing pains,

But everyone has them.

2.

Random bumps into furniture and balls and friends,

They appear out of nowhere,

Probably an accident.

3.

Looking further behind,

I realize,

I saw one covered by a hand,

Sitting against my steel blue cupboard,

Defeated,

Yet outraged,

And all alone,

By virtue of being a woman.

At least they didn’t hit you,

It was a once in a lifetime thing,

We all know they regretted it.

4.

The ones left around my neck,

Perhaps real,

Showing on the skin,

Or more likely,

The hand choking me,

Pushed against a wall,

while I desperately tried to scream,

Left soon enough,

Held loosely enough,

That the flesh could not reflect the pain inside,

And that wasn’t even the first time.

You probably deserved it,

All parents hit their kids.

5.

Slaps and punches and kicks,

Curling into a fetal position,

Mentally escaping into bliss,

Did those bruises show?

Like ridges and mountains and rivers?

Or did I absorb them,

Into muscles and nerves and bones,

Into blood stained walls,

And a childhood divided between love and horror,

Between flinches and fear,

And outrage and rebellion?

Between rage and respect?

Did those bruises show?

On my shins and legs and elbows and face?

My neck and hands?

My back and spine and knees?

Did they show?

Or did we all turn our eyes?

Everyone hits their kids.

It’s just growing pains.

Probably an accident.

She must be faking it,

It can’t hurt that bad,

Did those bruises show?

Born of slippers and brooms and fire pokers?

Or did they vanish,

Mingling with the brown and pink of my skin,

Stilling into knuckles and the space between my finger-tips,

I wonder,

If I ever saw a bruise,

Outside Google Photos,

Or did they disappear,

Or were never acknowledged or allowed to appear,

Even as blows rained and tears rolled,

And heads hit walls,

And blood-soaked clothes.

I wonder,

If I ever saw a bruise,

Outside Google Photos,

I know I was bruised,

More than I ought to.