Pressing my Bruises

This is to show that I don't always write on the horror part of poetry... though usually it is depressing/morbid/sad/etc. because that is usually what spurs me to write. Happiness... I dwell in it instead of write about it.

I like talking to you like I like pressing my bruises
I know I shouldn't but it's like someone else chooses
I seek you out like I seek out pain
Who knows why it happens again and again

And when you make me smile
It's worth it for another while
Then you make me laugh
And I forget to be mad


Sometimes I wear gloves
To avoid feeling anything but your hand
It takes me three tries just to say hello to you
What is it I don't understand?

I could go for days without seeing the moon
But when I do it is just like you
It fades and it grows, sometimes never shows,
And doesn't always agree with me

I like talking to you like I like pressing my bruises
I know I shouldn't but it's like someone else chooses
I seek you out like I seek out pain
Who knows why it happens again and again

And when you're sad
I forget you ever hurt me
I'd hold your hand
But that wouldn't help, surely

You make me think, critically
It's like you're my college professor
And you make me stop, start staring
Like you've changed my whole semester

But when I say hello it all goes dark
Twenty minutes later and no goodbye
Just call me a beggar, dress me in tree bark
Give me the answer to what I can't see with the naked eye

I like talking to you like I like pressing my bruises
I know I shouldn't but it's like someone else chooses
I seek you out like I seek out pain
Who knows why it happens again and again

And when you make me smile
It's worth it for another while
Then you make me cry
And I ask why

Who knows why it happens again and again

I seek you out like I seek out pain
Who knows why it happens again and again

The End

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