Bruises


My fingertips are painted blue and
my mother asks why
they match the dark bruises
under my eyes. I don't know
how to tell her that
this "blessing in disguise"
is covered in a curse
so neatly covered that
I had no idea what was coming.

I try to explain that this
is not love, this is not
the way it is supposed to be,
but he cannot hear me over
the beating of his fists on
my body. This makes me wish
I had learned to say no sooner,
wish that my first word be "no"
instead of "please," makes me
wish that I did not have to wish
for something so morbid as my
own death to get away from this.

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