Uneven Roads

I hit the ground hard. And waited too long to clean the wound. You crash out there alone. There's nothing to do, but bleed while you make your way back. Dirty rags as bandages.

None of those cars stopped to ask about the red ribbons streaming from my skin as I struggled to move myself forward with a knee vomiting red. I clenched the handlebars tighter to seal the gash on my hand. And assured myself I didn't need anyone's help. Even though no one was offering.

I waited too long to clean the wound and it killed some of the skin. New grew over. Sealing underneath it a permanent bruise. A black island lost in a seas of pale flesh.

A lifelong reminder that the more it hurts the harder I must press.

No one sees you when you're broken.