Bruised Heart Poem by Lehlonolo J Tshukudu

I knew you were poison
the first time your love tasted like an apology wrapped in sugar.

But I drank anyway.

Not because I was blind—
no…
I just believed my loyalty
could turn venom into water.

I fed you pieces of myself
like a man trying to keep a fire alive
in a storm that had your name written all over it.

And you—
you bit the hand
like hunger was your only language.

Still… I didn't pull away.

I told myself,
"that's just how broken people love."

So I stayed,
bleeding quietly
like a secret I was too ashamed to admit.

You didn't just break my heart…

You butchered it.

Slow.
Careful.
Intentional.

Like you needed to understand
how something so pure
could still be destroyed.

And the worst part?

You served it.

Plated my love on silver
and fed it to someone else
like it was nothing more than leftovers.

Like I was nothing more than a meal
you outgrew.

I watched you
look alive for someone else
while I was dying in the same room
you once called home.

Tell me—
what kind of cruelty
learns your heartbeat
just to replace it?

Because I gave you mine.

Every rhythm.
Every fragile pulse.
Every silent prayer
that you would choose me
the way I chose you.

But you chose convenience.
You chose attention.
You chose anything
that didn't require you
to be real.

And now…

I'm still bleeding.

Not the kind you can bandage—
this is the kind that writes its own story
across the floor.

My blood doesn't drip…
it remembers.

It traces every step
from the moment I met you
to the exact second
I lost myself trying to keep you.

There's a map of my suffering
somewhere between your lies
and my silence.

And I've memorized every corner of it.

I walk it daily.

Barefoot.

Because healing doesn't come
to people who loved like I did.

It comes to people
who learn how to forget.

And I don't—

I remember everything.

The way I made you feel safe
while you made me feel replaceable.

The way I protected your heart
while you auctioned mine
to the highest bidder.

The way I stayed
even when every part of me
was screaming
"this is where you disappear."

But I didn't.

I stayed long enough
to watch love turn into a crime scene.

And now I carry what's left of me
like evidence no one will ever investigate.

Because the truth is…

You didn't just hurt me.

You rewrote me.

Turned my softness into suspicion.
My patience into scars.
My love into something
that now feels dangerous to give.

And still…

a part of me—
the stupid, stubborn, loyal part—

would have chosen you again
if you had just chosen me once.

But you didn't.

So now all that's left of us
is a ghost…

and a man
still trying to stop the bleeding.