scarlet tears (supposedly minute poetry from a while ago)

i. there is a drop of scarlet in the glass of vicissitudes––

a taint of shadows in a fluorescent
room. its shape baring teeth
at the reflection in my mind.

“a false portrayal of self-actuality”, concludes the
shrinking voice of a certified delusionist. she says that
my bones are brittle and my skin is worn
but no– that, no,
that is not me

my entity is solely defined by my
despondent thoughts
and my cracking fragility
interlaced with
streaks of red and
black and
blue

blue like the broken veins that
engrave my skin in a constant
reminder of who i am and
who i will never be

ii. two drops now

i will never be the smile on
her face in the waters or the
laughter from her imperfections splayed out against a white wall or the
solid self-assurance of a growing leader. and
i will never be the consummate words
that grace a meal with gratitude at the end of the
day (thank you lord)

thank you to this body that has
tried its best and to this mind
that bleeds in the grasp of its masochistic owner
thank you for the strangled lips that have
spoken my lies and to these eyes
that have seen the world in
delusory in all its grandeur.

iv. the imminent red flows in an addled solution of
thick and thin, its path changing so
fluidly

fluid like the love in my heart that
cowers from myself yet peels its
flesh for everyone else;
as solid as the robust
affirmation vibrating through my bones
that cries in joy at its sublimity

and in my head i hear the people ask,
“why cant you just learn to love yourself?”

oh– but dont you understand?
i do. i do love myself.

i love the way my eyes shine
with tears and how my teeth glow
from soundless words that emerge from
the gaps of tenebrosity and
the way my heart sighs contentedly
in its barren aspiration

i love the way i
have run out of tears
and words to define this
agony, silence screams
betraying me and endorphins refusing
its exoneration

and since i cannot do all this,
i let myself replace letting salt out from my sore eyes
with the release of iron from my scarred wrists

v. and in my hand the glass shatters
and a sea of scarlet deluge my ipseity in a boundless suffocation

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