Sore Must Be the Storm

Here I am,

Pen and paper again,

Being asked for self-reflection.

A piece of me for the fodder I need,

Trying, desperately trying not to sound too proud,

But never presenting myself as too meek-

Why?

Why do I sit here, long after the world has gone to sleep,

Awake with the pressures it placed on my shoulders,

A beggar for what I, as an artist, am meant to abhor.

I ask myself: who am I? and the answer is clear.

I am cardinal,

Of prime importance, chief, principal, primary.

Only a year ago, I would not have said so;

How easy it is to become a secondary character in your own story,

To allow yourself to exist only in context with another,

Or as a product of your past.

I hold within me now all the passion and all the power

To silence the outside noise that assaults my mind

And listen to my heart.

My heart.

My heart was a cardinal,

A little red finch that sang out, oblivious to the danger,

Despite the knowledge of angry predators lurking in the forest and the

Memory of the harsh winters past.

I was a cardinal,

A hooded cloak of scarlet cloth,

Designed to protect, to complement,

And O how I have protected and complemented.

Much of my life has been scrawled in scarlet.

I was not born a jaundiced cherub;

I was cut out of my mother's womb,

Coating both she and I in scarlet,

I was a lively child, a burst of light,

My hair turning, in summer, to scarlet,

Then I was corrupted, misused, desecrated against my will so young,

And as he tore through me, I bled scarlet.

The world was dark, cruel, frightening,

Over all I could see lay a filter of scarlet.

The first girl I ever loved drew pictures with a blade on her wrists,

And to tell her that I loved her, I copied her artwork with craftsman's precision,

And then we both dripped scarlet.

I stayed by her side for years, afraid and in pain;

My cardinal heart bleeding affections until she shot it.

Her love was translucent while mine was scarlet.

The stains coat my feathers,

Once-white and once-clean, so now I am scarlet.

But I am cardinal, by nature and by virtue,

Guided by prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude,

Of chief importance,

My life resting on my wings and mine alone;

A cardinal, 

A little red finch that sings out despite the danger,

Despite the memories of being forced so far so young,

Despite the knowledge that I have yet so far to go.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Julien E.G

I love it!

natalieshayclark

christ this is amazing

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