Creature Speak


A Creative Writing Blog

The Beauty of Bruises

Bruises are beautiful when you’ve seen enough of them to recognize the colors. 

Unique hues in the language of blood under your skin.

Heart-whispers in reds and blues.  

Purple dreams dissipating and tender to the touch.  

These delicate darknesses tell a story; admitting that we took a chance on living,

and we are still here, haggard breath and all;

the light more alive in your eyes, sparkling from the tears.

Your aching heart emanates subtle shades that I can see because grief is a constant friend,

because everyone loves and everything dies, yet we love nonetheless.

Burgundy and cerulean pools are woven into your sheaths and into your pith, 

unique as the nuances of your pain, and some of the colors don’t have names.

Yet when the cracks are made, even in our ethers, begins the mending cascade.

We all know what bruises mean on the surface or in the places that we don’t need to see,

because the wounds we carry have a heartbeat all their own.

And some of us are always listening for the song that says another one hasn’t given up, 

despite the beatings, 

so maybe I can keep carrying on, too.

Your fragile reds and broken blues and every nameless hue 

on their journey of the shifting shades of healing, 

tell me we are doing this together.

And I can’t help but see the beauty in your wounds each time they occur,

because they give me more courage to love.

© 2023, Sheya Forest

One response to “The Beauty of Bruises”

  1. THANK YOU for our wonderful visit and gifted reading of The Beauty of Bruises. Something about hearing your voice adds another dimension to the poem

    This time, the second stanza jumped out at me and reminded me of two of my most adventurous friends, one who is 69, still working on her “bucket list” — this time to New Zealand. Both her two previous list items, Africa and Antarctica, left her bruised and even broken with major recovery required to mend physically. It was agonizing. All in the name of really going to the depths of her longing to “going explores” to wild regions of the planet. She has absolutely no regrets about her choices, and she is “still here, haggard breath and all; the light more alive in her eyes” after each adventure into the natural world.

    Also, “Yet, when the cracks are made, even in our ethers, begins the mending cascade.” wow… My mind just went to scraped knees from roller skating as a kid and picking at the scabs a week later as a result of the latest spill. Still doing that… And yet, I get up and put the skates back on…and learn to take another chance.

    Love, love, love for your healing journey Sheya! All will be well,



    Thoughts become things. Choose the good ones.


    Liked by 1 person

About Me

I wrote my first story when I was a wee girl of three, followed by my first poem when I was eight. I’ve been writing ever since as a way to cope with life. This practice evolved with learning in both structured settings and through the practice, itself. In my own healing crisis, I found a process I affectionately refer to as Poetic Alchemy. Now on the journey of getting my life back, I do this not only for myself but for you.

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