Mama Didn’t Raise a Quitter -- 23 January 2017

Blooming bruises dot my skin like sunspots

I’ve become so accustomed to them

They’re now like freckles

Just a part of my skin

My hands were not meant to be my own nurse

Stitches and sutures and split lips

I can fix others but never myself

Love is but an economic exchange

And the aches put food on the table

I can’t walk away because if I try

I know I’d be dragged back by the ends of my hair

And why would I even want to

When the moments after are sugar sweet

Gritty like a spoonful of sugar to distract from the burn
And you know Mama didn’t raise a quitter