Bruises

Unseen skin
reveals all.
Soft shapes in shades
of blue and violet.

I count the bruises
like constellations,
a reminder of my
own mistakes
and blunders.

Some bruises cannot
be seen at all.
Left by those
who vowed
to hold me gently,
love softly.

Nothing was gentle.
Left with hard edges,
sharp objects
I knew not
to hold.

I count the bruises
like constellations.
Everything
falls.
Eventually.