Bruise

It is not broken.
I am not broken.
I am purple, and green, and red.
I am black and blue.

I am still here,
in certain lights more present than others.

A walking bruise.
When you touch me,
I am warm.

My blood is flowing–
even though my center is off.

The hurt is there still;
only. if. you. press.

I can conceal it, this ache of mine
—my bruised being

Adorn it with ornaments and ointments.
Remembering that nothing is opaque
and just,
let me heal.

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