bruised

Growing up I would get a lot of bruises, I would always say I simply fell Because if others knew, knew what really happened they wouldn't see me the same. They would only see the kid who thought weaknesses can't be shown, The kid who dug their small fingers into their skin to force down the tears. And I still do this, no matter how much I've tried to stop I do it. And I know it hurts, But the blue and purple skin is an escape. Being bruised is an escape. Why? Because it shows the pain. And maybe, just maybe You'll still see me as who I really am. And sure, it's not perfect but it's me. Bruises and all. I'm still me.