blood and ink
as a child i often found myself participating in sadistic activities.
i felt my sins rotting into my body-
into my soul as-well my veins.
it kept my blood pumping throughout my body that i did neglect.
i protested against consuming meals as if they’d make me feel holy again,
sick i was.
the blood that clawed out out my skin begging for relief of this tainted soul.
the thickened red river that poured from my wrists-
spilled onto pages.
a paper about the “cleanse”-
i had in my now “holy” body,
“sickened” activities made me feel whole again.
as if the river from the wrists would fix the tears i wept.
if the bandages on my now healed wrists would fix the bandages on my tainted soul.
i had once had a lords preacher tell me: “the lord will forgive you for the things you have done to yourself”-
i did not need the lord forgiveness.
i had begged for the lords help-
prayed my tears away for a simple sign.
i wept my sorrows into letters for their lord for him to kill me painless,
if this was our god i did not want him.
the lord never watched me as i couldn’t fathom the idea of being normal again.
i was born like this i suppose-
hungry for the blood spill that would give me relief from my sorrows even if it was for a few divine seconds.
i sit on my cold floor the same ones i had once bled onto and poured my soul onto.
i write as if my sorrows are not lingering.
i write like my wrists are not bandaged and wrapped.
i write like this was a tragic past, like the light switch was flipped on into the dark room of grief but that is not the truth.
i weep onto the pages, my tears and blood based on painful past become the ink from my stories.
i write as if the ink on pages will rewrite the sorrowful story of my past.
i know it won’t.
i beg the pages to tell me i’ll be a changed women now.
they laugh as the ink spills onto the paper.
i tell myself i’ll write tomorrow instead.
Copyright © alice faith | Year Posted 2025
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