Thursday, March 4, 2010

Lavender bruises

It's almost sweet in its familiarity
so subtle, it feels like home at first
rising slowly
bubbling like lava
rising in my chest

it isnt until it catches me in my throat
that I even notice its there
and by then its established residence
and my hands are shaking and my heart
's rubbed raw with emotion

This is your fault
this is you, you did this
and you're the softest, sickest corner of me
my most tender wound

I vaguely recall
honey-thick lullabies
and gentle caresses
all marred by
steaming hot curses
fingerprints on my shoulders

seized by rage
It's difficult to breathe
and I measure my thoughts slowly;
trying to contain

I can't even place blame
as much as every ligament and muscle fiber
that pulls my hands into whitely clenched fists
desperately wants to

You're just a sick, injured animal
and we your captors

And blisters on my tongue where
my cruelties have burned marks
press softly against the roof of my mouth
nursing nursing
always nursing.

There's this sweet gentle hand
deeply rooted in my core
that just wants to take care of you
move slowly over your shoulder blades
work your hair into a long, twisted braid

And I'm breathing deeply
measuring my thoughts
I love you, I remind myself.
And that sweet gentle hand
strokes my hair
tender on the nape of my neck
reminds me of the source of my strength
and all the things I owe to you
my poor, fragile bird
they tenderly broke your wings.
That hand works over the scars
rigid red dots from where
I tugged at the last feathers.

I am so sorry.