red bloom

There are roses blooming
beneath my skin
like bruises

The truth has always made
a liar of me

She asked me if I could ever
forgive myself
for not being perfect

I said, no
I’m no good at forgiveness
though I’ve been trying
to staunch the war inside me
that bleeds out like ink
and paints the pavement
in wordless poetry
the colour of my tears

There are roses blooming
beneath my skin
like bruises
and my bones
are breaking through again
because I’ve forgotten how to eat
I’ve forgotten how to breathe
I’ve forgotten how to be
human

She asked me if I could ever
forgive myself
for not being perfect

I said, no
I’m no good at forgiveness
though I’ve been trying
to staunch the war inside
I’m not yet on the right side
of winning

© Indie Adams 2014