Bruised Love

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.

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