Are meant to be picked
Toyed with again and again
Because if you leave them you forget what brought them
But if you stare they pretend they didn’t hurt you
I am in a constant state of suspension
Not willing to hurt the way I could
The way I should
After everything that’s been done
And whatever has yet to come
Somehow I don’t come after you
And destroy every one of your friends
Every fiber of your being
Because look
what you almost did to me

8 thoughts on “Bruised

  1. I liked your poem, it is very much like something I could have written, which brings me to my point: I’m 56 and have suffered abuses and indignities all my life. I’m covered with bruises. I wore them like badges of honor, but that did nothing to help me. I have wished many times over the years to avenge myself, but to what end? If I destroyed one of them, how many people who never did anything to me would I take down with them? What kind of man would that make me? If I can’t or won’t forget them, how much greater is their victory? I’m certain these questions cross your mind as much as they do mine. I know how difficult it is to let this shit go, I struggle with it every day and I would never make light of your struggle.
    You have to do what you have to do, I understand, but know this: sooner or later you are going to want to lose all this and take your life back and sooner is going to be a lot easier than later. Good luck, man.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: Bruised – The Militant Negro™

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