You look me in the eyes
and don’t know how to hold onto
the weight of something so broken
that it crushes you with
it’s mere existence
So you look past me.
I don’t blame you
I’ve been avoiding mirrors too
The smell of bruises from my soul
clings like the smoke from the bodies on the battleground
I am a bride of war and
and all this red is just me wearing the death of all the people
I have become or didn’t allow myself to become.
You don’t have to sweep me off this earth like dust from the past
The center of the war
is such a lovely place to be;
I’m bruised and trembling
but the hands on the clock are broken and
I’m not worried about the war any longer
The fruit fell and the seeds are buried.
But the war will come again.
And again I’ll be red.
You can look past me.