November 7, 2016

 

Bruised

 

there is a bruise on me, a large, discoloured weakness
where once I had been strong enough to carry
the weight of what they thought, who around my life
walk and live and laugh and smile; loved and adored
and it frightens me that I hurt so much that every
kindness
touches like a blade, sharply thrust into my very heart
callous twisting while all about me smile, unknowing