I wore you like a bruise.
Swollen name upon my thigh
and your face flowered
into rows of purple and dark blues.
At least this time,
it wasn’t my right eye puffed up
in your excuses; scrunched closed
so I could ignore the truth.
Heartbreak was sharp and my shoulders
speckled in cuts from your razor tongue
and dagger glares.
We tumbled every night
from across the room in passive remarks
and sneered smirks, while we tore apart
our photograph memories down the middle
and packed up our luggage
to prepare for our next relationships.
Poetic Trials 