A Scarlet Love Letter To My Inner Darkness
A Macabre Ode to the Beauty in My Mental Illness, Defying Society’s Mandate to Shave Off ‘Different,’ Crafting Poetry from the Void Within, Where the Dark Blossoms into a Haunting Beauty.
Upon the precipice, I teter,
A realm where sanity falters,
Should I forsake self-awareness,
Anesthetize my vibrant essence,
To bleed, a peculiar rapture,
Why vilify scars as alluring,
Why not adorn my affliction,
I am whole, not fractured,
Is it perverse to relish my melancholy,
To revel in the romantic hues of my mind,
I am not shattered, just me,
Is joy taboo in the embrace of my despair,
I resist self-loathing, unbroken am I,
If shattered, who wielded the shattering wand?
Oh, the possibilities if I release,
Unbind the reins of restraint just a tad,
Perhaps I’d veer into violence,
Adorning my frame with delicate scars,
Who shall discern, who shall discern?
Society confines me to a box,
To them, I’m shattered by parental design,
Personality disorders, an everlasting shadow they claim,
Insurance spurns permanence,
Instances exist of Borderline souls “recovering,”
Are they truly cured, or masters of self-command,
Dark yearnings serenade my solitude, though I’m not alone,
I harness them, savoring the serenity when unbridled,
Liberate my thoughts,
Unshackled from the pretense of “self-control,”
What harm in self-harm,
I inquire, devoid of irony.
These somber verses murmur, “I’m not alone,”
Yet, my mind contends otherwise,
Longing for respite, release from ceaseless dominion,
To be acknowledged in a crisis asylum
My verses lack rhyme, coherence escapes me,
My mind, a labyrinth of confusion,
A heart pulsing tales of hopelessness,
Disorder, a misnomer for this chaos,
Each dawn beckoning repose, yet guilt stalks,
Fear of inadequacy grips me,
Terrified of falling short in others’ eyes,
The anxiety resurrects, perception scrutinized,
The craving for obscurity returns,
Night-long vigils, society’s fleeting freedom,
Unsustainable in the grind of “life,”
Once an edge lord, now straddling the edge, bordering,
A dalliance with the blade, a drop of life’s essence.
Peruse other poems, mine adrift in the murky sea of my psyche.
Is it amiss to paint my life in shades of gray,
Oh, the journey to find comedy in this divine tragedy,
The yearning to witness verdant life burgeon,
To bask in the moonlight’s ethereal caress,
The aroma of earth, sweet post-rain.
I am not just the shadowy urges within,
I am entwined with them, they are me,
Is it sinful to derive pleasure,
From the hand fate has dealt,
What is my existence, if a constant struggle for societal approval,
I wish to live and love, how can I love myself,
Society deems me flawed for my affliction,
An unseen malady may define me,
Yet, that is my prerogative, not theirs,
What must I metamorphose into, to silence these burdensome musings,
The weight of unattainable expectations,
The fleeting glimpse of liberation, just beyond grasp.
Is it then wrong,
For my verses to seek darkness,
Within this luminous soul, I stand, embracing my darkness.
If a few drops of red stain the light, I will have won — my victory etched in scarlet defiance.
