Bruises — a poem

The deeper they were
The more purple they seemed
Turning from deep red
To brown
To yellow.
I’d watch them heal
Sometimes it took weeks
Covered them
Under baggy T-shirts
Baggy jeans
So everything felt baggy.
Bags under my eyes
Bags by the door
Filled with things I discarded
Emptying my room
Of toys, blankets, comfort.
I grew up too soon.
Thought something empty
Meant maturity,
Reflective of how empty
Those bruises made me.
And it would make me less
Of a target.
But when other men
Left bruises on my skin
I found it attractive.
Found it familiar,
Found it calming.
Make-believing it was tenderness
Because it was always
The love
I’d wanted
From you.