The Bruise In Matrimony

My wedding day bruise
adorned our happy day,
You would squeeze my arm
and it sounded like play.

An adult-child play date
met in true matrimony,
The moment was fun
but our love, it was phony.

I cried out with my voice
to stop grabbing my arm,
The finger shaped bruises
never meant any harm.

Every day without fail
you held tight my flab,
The bruise caused a struggle
to be free of your grab.

Of course I would scream
and often times cry,
My "Leave me alone!"
would soon be goodbye.

I left you and your grip
and my title "Gertrude!"
The name you gave me
with every pinch I thought rude.

My bruise finally healed
and my skin lost the hurt,
Our play date of a marriage
gave me a growth spurt