Bruises

I'm looking at myself in the mirror. And I'm thinking, good lord. Where do they come from? I've got one painted on my collarbone, a quick splotch of fading yellow. Along my shoulders and back, barely even risen yet from a slide down the stairs. Just above my left elbow, a deep blue, nearly black, giving me a twinge every time I bend my arm. Small drips of blue and green along my legs. A large one just above my ankle, the color of a thick, murky twilight. My left foot is covered with them, red and blue and yellow, all in different stages of healing. Where do they come from?

Sometimes I think there is more than one reason I don't have a boyfriend. Is it because I'm afraid of being dumped? Hesitant to share myself with someone? Or is it simply because I don't want him to see the bruises? Maybe he'd see them as a work of art, a painted canvas, a reminder of who I am and where I've been.

But I doubt that.