I was always good at blaming others
As I reached for another's cookie jar
But somehow I dipped my fingers in the ink instead:
The color of guilty fingers is an inky black, not red
The ink built up behind steel bars
And so did my litany of sin
I thought then that hate would be my world
So I got it tattooed on my skin
I've been in purgatory
Solitary
Been contrary
But it was therapy that made me see
I've been here so long, surrounded by ink
But only recently realized that it doesn't just destroy;
Ink has the potential to create
So I got my pen and paper
Tried to write a poem to my mom
But smudges marked out every kind word
I put my inked fingers on
She visited, and said she liked the poem
But I know she couldn't read the inky page
And black smudges marked her ivory skin
When I took her by the hand
Now I sit and wonder: if no one can see past the ink
How am I supposed to change?
I just put my head in my hands
And let the ink run down my face
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I love the way you took this from cookie jar to ink well to tatoos great start to a very interesting read. I loved the lines " Ive been in puratory Solitary Been contray." The visual was excellent of how the person began to see and care how their actions (ink) had affected others, and wanted to find a way to change. Guilt smudges alot of good intentions I think, blinding a person's ablity to see themselves different. Trapping them in negative ruts and habits they no longer want but feel unable to change. They cant forgive themselves and dont see how anyone else can either. Great job. I love the use as ink for stains of past actions.
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