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Image for the poem The dark art of a sometimes girlygirl, submissive, expunk-goth and almost poet with a penchant for self hatred...

The dark art of a sometimes girlygirl, submissive, expunk-goth and almost poet with a penchant for self hatred...

...(and other stories)  
 
 
It's taken years  
[hard fought and battle torn]  
from first memories— to this very exhale  
with pen in hand  
to find even small-ish comfort  
inside a skin  
that should have always been  
my safe home of harbored self security,  
an abundant wellspring flowing healthy current  
 
"Oh to dream dreams as that once, little girl"  
 
Honest as these thoughts are  
and as I will the words to be,  
sort of scouring clean  
my humanity  
en prose,  
it's not the whole truth of it  
when haunted cringes  
worthy of the finest self-hatred  
still randomly  
plague and poke  
their particular echoed torment  
piercing hard  
rebreaking brittle bones  
 
I crack open way too easily, even now  
shame and embarrassment spilling forth  
finding a way   
to bubble to the surface  
through red angry scars,  
that even thousands of written words  
never seem to fully heal  
 
Leaks of boiling blood and marrow  
are an end result  
of 'a mother's love'  
distorted by time-space,  
childhood fractures and  
my own voice's silencing  
 
Arbitrarily disoriented  
lost and losing myself  
hearing faint sounds  
recognizing rot  
memories of name calling  
slaps in the face,  
thighs,  
belly  
or any jiggly bit,  
was purposely tattooing reminders  
 
Instant flashes — heartbeats beating old rhythm  
I watch as my inherited black blood  
slowly escapes each tiny fissure  
of tainted acid ache,  
burning a sad trail of total disappointment  
infused by inferior-ugly  
 
Oozing obsidian outrage  
breathing in pants  
like the rage dearly loves                
while it breeds,  
growing  
taking control  
 
"I feel my chemical composition rapidly altering"  
 
At least I tell myself  
I have that super power—  
skills learned in captivity, I muse,  
creating and recreating,  
forcing by will  
scabs to form and bones to mend  
 
Etching hope into willed reality  
with each gloss,  
shade  
and contour—  
colors dawn from blackest night  
born bursting the daylight  
 
A spectrum opening  
the vastness of possibility  
and the proof to makeover a dark identity  
into a full array of beauty  
 
 
 
which always laid beneath                
               
               
               
               
               
               
               
               
               
Author's Note
Because celebrating who you've become despite harsh obstacles can take on many colorful faces...

A majority stream of consciousness spill...

©Blu2022
Pic: Mine
Admiring the leaves clanging colors felt apropos
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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