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62
Student @ Babcock University
Bruised by My Own Truth
<p>I opened my chest like a trembling door,</p><p>letting the light fall on every bruise I hid.</p><p>I spoke softly, hoping you’d hear the quake</p><p>in the words I was finally brave enough to say.</p><p><br/></p><p>But instead of holding what I handed you,</p><p>you dropped it—</p><p>not out of malice, maybe,</p><p>but it shattered all the same.</p><p><br/></p><p>I told you where it ached,</p><p>I showed you where it broke,</p><p>and in trying to understand me,</p><p>you carved a different wound.</p><p><br/></p><p>It’s strange how pain can echo</p><p>in places untouched—</p><p>how a single misplaced word</p><p>can become a blade with perfect aim.</p><p><br/></p><p>Now I sit with the ghost of what I shared,</p><p>and the new sting you never meant to leave.</p><p>Both lie beside me like tangled threads</p><p>I can’t pull apart without unraveling.</p><p><br/></p><p>Still, I wish I’d kept quieter,</p><p>folded my feelings back into their boxes,</p><p>taped the lids shut</p><p>and swallowed the key.</p><p><br/></p><p>Because trusting you with my hurt</p><p>should have brought relief,</p><p>not another place to bleed.</p><p><br/></p>
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Port Harcourt, Nigeria
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