My Grisly Gift

My emotions spill out like blood,

Hot, sticky, erratic, un-called for;

I bleed on everyone who gets close to me.

“See what I look like on the inside?”

I open my wounds and hope that people will not

Speak salt words into them.

So often they do.

Do not be afraid of this dark matter

Pouring out of me-- 

It is not death, but life!

I am alive,

Let me show you how alive I am!

I am overflowing, spilling over,

There is too much of me to hold.

Let me show you the color of my heart,

It is The Blackest Red

It will stain your hands—don’t be afraid!

Don’t pour bleach on this bloody mess—

Wait! Cup your hands,

Accept this grisly gift, act as if it matters,

And doesn’t matter at all.

If you wanted to stitch me up, I might let you

But think before you do it, darling;

At least I am not a hidden secret

At least I am an open book of red ink.