There is a darkness in me, born with pride and held tight in my fist, a bruise-purple marble worn smooth against the hard corners surrounding the best of my intentions. This darkness has little weight – I discarded guilt long ago, trading it in equal measures for an infamy that lives only in my heart.
I swallow it whole – no, better! I imbibe it, a salve for a self-inflicted illness, a silver cool easing of the many-mouthed wound that bleed tears of joy within my ever dissolving resolve. It is a rainstorm in miniature, trickling tiny angels into the darkness at the very bottom of me; I could weep for them, for I can hear their hymns of sorrow when I sleep at night.
Do not offer forgiveness, I deserve none. My transgressions are many, my iniquities greater still.
And my indiscretions? They can be counted in the brightly colored letters blazoned in deep red for all to read.
Ahhh, scarlet letters worn…punishment? Warning? Invitation…oh yes.
xxoo,
Melanie
I think everyone has there share of scarlet letters… The difference is some people try and hide them, and some people revel within them.