They were Mine (Spoken Word)

He said my
bruises
were flowers without
petals.

They grew from
the life
inside
me.

They weren’t remnants
of my past
or of
last summer.

I was a piece
of fruit
thrown from place
to place.

A face that
didn’t know
how to
smile.

I hadn’t done
that for
a
while.

My scars were
roads that
weren’t
built

The creator
got lost
along the
way.

I told him it
was never my
day.

My bruises were
from where
my body touched
the world.

When my hands
curled from
pain,
when my body
gained strength.

My marks didn’t
need to be
romantic
or
dramatic.

Nor a splurge
I could
erase.

Not a skeleton
I could dig
up and
bless.

I’d faced my
pain and
felt the cool
of the rain.

Had my heartbroken
young.

Fallen in love
once, never
again.

He told me he
loved me.
I lied.

I didn’t know
love
anymore.

I’d known it
before but I
wasn’t playing that
game again.

I told him my
scars
were paths to a
better life.

My bruises islands
on my ocean
of a body.

They were mine
to describe.

They were my
past.

I could poke
my bruises.

Stroke my
scars.

No one else
could.

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