A Poem: Bruised, Not Broken

I am simply bruised, not broken.
Allowing time to heal these marks of purple and black.

You look at them. These bruises are disturbing and you look at me with concern.
They don't hurt. Really.

I did this to myself. My own hand. Actions. Missteps.
They are months and months old.

I added insult to this injury. I ignored all words of caution.
I let go of the wheel, covered my ears with shaking hands, and allowed my eyes to go blind.

Impulsive. Ignorant. Injured.
Me.