Love oddities

Only a few months ago my ivory-white skin was an atlas of bruises, a map marking the grip of something(someone) there to hurt me. I thought that I'd never trust a touch again. I'd never feel the warmth of leaning in for a kiss. Then you kissed me and all my bruises came undone, my purple-blue-yellow mottled skin turning from the darkest dust to the clearest dawn, still lilac but pale and dewy. I wonder how you managed to take so much away with your hands, inhale such pain with your kiss. How does one touch something and make it stop hurting- perhaps not completely, but far less than it used to? And why would you choose me to touch?

I should be out there thanking anyone who has ever loved me just for trying. I have been told that I am loved but that I'm just too much. Which is at odds with the all-vaulting feeling I've always had: that I've never been and never will be enough.