{Poetry}: Not Always Right

I forgive you.

The words you said in anger
cut into me like razor blades.
For years, they never healed.
(I would pick at the scabs
and reopen the bloody memories.)

It never hurt when I was numb,
paralyzed with self-doubt,
crippled with insecurities.
I would doodle all the words
you said in a moment’s anger
on my flesh with a tattoo gun.

(The words couldn’t fade that way.
Everyone would see my warnings
from miles away.)

I never thought I’d erase the words,
laser off the memories,
but life’s funny that way.
No longer do I see the scars
from words slung like blades
(slut, bitch, whore, crazy,
damaged goods)
in the haste of anger.

The tattoos vanished.
Even the memories masquerading
as facts start to slip
from my grasp.
(Because even you can get it wrong
from time to time.)



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