Bruise My Lips


Fight me, hit me, bruise my lips –

rake your fingers over my hips.

If I said no, your actions would cease –

the respite would be faint, be brief.

You’re entitled to me, my everything –

my thoughts, my body, my dreams.

Deny, deny, you say I’m mine –

but you nail yourself in my mind.

You say you’ll never leave;

you don’t ask me.

The violence grows, the danger blooms –

but I can’t leave, it’s still too soon. 

I won’t tell him, he doesn’t need to know –

the way you deliberately cut out my soul.

The worst violence was not the bruises,

was not the slips.

It was every insult that fled your lips.


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