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Flipping through the channels on the
television
oh, stop here, I want to see Mike Piazza up to bat. Thud.
I mistook a boyfriend for a school yard bully.
Now I have a fist sized bruise on my bare brown thigh.
But it's summer. So hot I don't sleep with blankets or even sheets.
So hot I start to sweat at 7 am.
Now I'm going to have to wear long pants in this sweltering oven.
Tears well in my eyes. No more shorts or bathing suits.
Not with this fist sized bruise on my bare brown thigh.
I quit wearing sleeveless shirts long ago.
I need to cover the finger marks around my arms.
As soon as these ones fade to yellow, they are replaced by fresh marks
territorial marks, jealousy marks, marks of anger and rage.
These marks make me his.
That Line you walk between loving someone and hoping they don't punch
you in the mouth, it's a razor sharp line.
It cuts deep down to the bone.
I bleed the red passion of hate.
Am I that girl? That stupid girl who receives a dozen peach colored
roses and a tearful apology. Don't be that girl.
Run hard and fast and the hell out of there.
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