Bruise
Old wounds
The wound is the place where the light gets in. —Rumi
In the darkest corner of her heart,
she carried a bruise.
It was a deep, purplish ache that
murmured of repressed memories,
forgotten pain.
Each beat of her heart sent
ripples of sorrow through her veins,
slight disturbances echoing the
life she left behind,
the abuse endured.
She tried to hide her bruised heart,
painting a smile on her lips
to deceive the world.
When the moon rose high,
she would sit by her window,
allow the bruise to bloom,
to spread its tendrils across her face,
like a spider’s web of melancholy.
In the solitude of night, she healed,
one tear at a time.
Author’s Note
Read my companion poem, Violet Circles at Spillwords.
Although I have never been a victim of abuse, I have known women who have been abused, listened to their stories, and cried with them.
Credits for photos used in the video I created (with the help of Canva) to introduce this post on Instagram and other social media, go to VadimGuzhva, Yuri, and Arto.
Upcoming…
A cozy ghost tale:
John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, 27 January 2024
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These are very powerful words looking at the horrors of domestic abuse, Caro. I’m also very sorry to hear that people you know had to endure such a nightmare
Thankfully I have never been physically abused .. at least not in such a way as to evoke mental trauma. When I was growing up, I would sometimes hear of the mother of a friend being beaten by her husband. I had a hard time wrapping my child's mind around such an event as it was so totally foreign to me. Domestic abuse is a crime most horrible. I sincerely hope and pray that anyone in such a situation will be brave and courageous enough to break away and seek help. Sadly, so often the fear is too great.