I wanted to tell you that
this cut on my leg
wasn't a shaving accident.
That the beads of rubies
weren't from clumsy fingers,
but from strong trembling hands.
I thought I'd tell you that
I enjoyed the way it felt,
the idea that I was alive --
that string of scarlet pearls
was proof that I had a heart,
that it still beat --
no matter how faint.
I wanted to wear the red jewels
around my neck
as some sort of prize.
No,
as some kind of evidence
that I
          was
                 not
                       hollow --
                 I'm
         still
here.
Try to wipe them away,
but they only become
one of Van Gogh's strokes --
beautiful.
meaningful.
I am alive.