I don't need spells
or amulets to
repel
the curses you placed upon me.
Soul so pure
that when you try to
contaminate me,
I make you clean.
I see your wounded child
in your illusion of mean.
So, fall,
my dear.
Bruise your knees.
Life's not meant to be
ended pristine.
I'd rather my life be
painted
than to be a
whitened
veneer.
I want to live a life of
weeping
and of
tears.
To leave
a little bit scathed.
I want to leave
just a bit
insane.
To make poetry out of
what used to be
pain.
© Stephanie Khio 2024