Bruised.
Skin, spirit, and ego alike,
Marred with a medley of purple and blue
Of struggle and strife.
But, enduring endlessly, still
Hoping not for porcelain skin
nor feathered trials but rather,
accepting these contorted lesions
Aware of the void that they fill.
Bruises, deformities, these trials on the soul
They confess what is deep, what is true and untold
Bruised due to folly but not follies themselves
These mountains, these hardships, bear wisdom unfelt.
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