bruising

today the past has come to life
and my place in the world
(or lack of)
is loud and clear,
nonbelonging painted over my
skin – shades of black and blue.
what is a bruise if not
an acknowledgement of pain:
hurt made visible?
who am i if not
an acknowledgement of pain:
trauma made visible
and too human to ignore?
the past has come to life today
here in my house,
and it is breathing in all
my oxygen, leaving me reeling
on the floor.
the past has come to life today
and it is pushing knives deep
into my flesh.
what is my body if not
proof that things can grow
in places where they are not
welcome?
this -my- body is proof
things can grow where they
are not welcome,
where they are not loved,
where they are always
on the outside.
things can grow when they
are not welcome (look at me,
look at the size of me)
but when they die,
they still die alone.