Inkblood
Up above, where Fates write out stories,
they dip their pens
in waterfalls of ink—
every possibility available
for every mortal life.
When they put pen
to the paper of my life,
they chose inks
of self-consciousness and fear,
writing stories of
should haves and never will bes.
I feel the ink snake through
my fingers and heart,
see its permanent blackness
staining the space under my skin,
hear it urging me to stay
in the safe dark corners
where no one can see me.
The ink believes
that it can tell me
how my story goes.
But the Fates’ words
can be washed away.
With a brave hand,
I cut open my skin
and watch the ink rise to meet me.
Then I take my own pen
and use my blood
to write a new story
of the fate I choose.
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