iNKweLL, BLooD REd

iNKweLL, BLooD REd
Poem written for a good friend and a great poet. 

She cries at night
I dare not console her
She abhors sympathy
But empathy is her strength  

It is difficult to be a poet
Who feels all so deeply 
Collecting tears and smiles
And piling them on your own  

Exponentially magnificent
If one can survive the pain 
She cuts herself to keep
Herself grounded in reality  

Blood-red tears 

She builds her nest of words
Like her friend, the wasp
Do not enter, do not touch
The past lives to sting 

She plays the movie
Through and through
It causes her mind to spin 
As she relives every frame  

She has blood on her hands  
She pours words on paper
Her blood is her motivation
The ink well of a frightened
Overwhelmed little girl
With the soul of an ancient. 
She spews clarity and insight
Painting her dreams in red
And forever wondering why  
She never feels 

Completely free,
Even when blameless,
Or ever fully capable
Of loving herself 

To her this is life’s mystery
Sharing her daily struggle
One only an eloquent pen
Can capture, her true soul,  

With an inkwell, blood red.

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