Drenched

Mon, 05/01/2017 - 23:43 -- harshy6

I'm drenched.

the coagulating bliss of blue pigment

molding into gleaming red

does not frighten me- although it should

It stings. it sticks to me like syrup

getting stuck in between

my fingers and

I'm like a kid who discovered paint

and you know I just had to spread it

on the walls -

A mark of man, a symbol

of the life pulsing inside me

fingerprints and dripping smears,

such a beautiful image

A Monet of red framed in my mind

my masterpiece transcribed into my veins

then poured out in droplets

across my canvassed skin and onto

the plaster where it will dry in

magnificence.

Just look at it.

look at the humanity -

or lack thereof in their eyes

know that it did not cripple

but forged a strength in me

one so deep and frighteningly

bountiful that only a smile

across my face would tell you that

harm becomes happy.

 

-AH

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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