Red

I am red,
like an ambitious flame,
angry and rising
and my voice echoes
loudly,
demanding to be
heard over the
endless whispers and
incessant cries
that fill the void in my mind.
I am fire,
like the crackling of burning wood and
long forgotten letters.
I am heartbreak,
I am passion,
I am rage,
and I tear the world apart
with my pen.

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Scattered

Scattered
As if every thought
Every stream of consciousness
Is to no avail
And I know not who I am
I have only ever learned
To examine myself in pieces
Lost fragments of time and space
That do not quite match up anymore
But my puzzle is beyond scattered
So far lost and broken
That to start anew
Would be much more sensible
Than to search for myself
In the nooks and crannies
Of this mundane world
Straining to see
The distant pops of color
That might still be lingering
Somewhere within
The soiled depths of my mind

This is not about you

This is not about you.
This is not about about all those times you made me feel worthless and pathetic or how you spat my own name in my face like a curse.
This is not about how your betrayal ripped a giant gaping hole in my heart that I have not yet even begun to patch up. I can only keep ripping off the bandaid to remind myself of what it feels like to hurt.
And this is not about how your name will forever feel like acid on my tongue, burning the back of my throat as I try to smother the urge to scream it out into the night.

This is not about you.
This is about me.
This is about all the hurt and torment I have endured as I passively watched you set me on fire. This is about my struggle to love myself to fill the hole that you made, as you left me to fend for myself like a lonely and wounded animal.
This about how I will rise high above the flames and spread my hatred like wildfire, so that maybe one day, it might reach you.
This is about how I hope neither heaven nor hell will take you, for you would surely be a disappointment to both.

So, no. This is not about you.
This is about me,
like it always has been.