I bleed various colors of blood. Red for the love I give to you. Blue for the pain I cause you. Green for your fertile mind that you give willingly to me. Yellow for my sunny demeanor that hides truths unknown to you. Purple for the bloody bruises turning in wounds of those unsaid truths. Brown for the Earth that I inhabit. And Black for this pit of dishonesty that I live in, hurting those I love with distance and lies.
I bleed, but not blood. I bleed words. I bleed revolution. I bleed a revolution of my heart and my head.
I bleed poetry, which allows me to obfuscate my lies into pretty little poems which do not disturb the people I love. Words that don't rock the boat; rather, tie these emotions to the dock of my soul deep, deep, deep below the surface, so as to not disturb the waters that remain so calm, with storms brewing and building underneath.
I bleed poetry, but it is not helping in this moment and does nothing to assuage my guilt. I'm sorry...
Photo by Hunter Cosford on Unsplash
