The Scarlet Refusal
The box. The chains.
The absolution.
“It ends the pain,” they say.
But what is there for me to gain?
My shackles long slipped the rein.
It’s your box, your chain, that detains.
I abandoned that game.
“It sticks,” they say.
“It rebels,” they voice.
A bright red ‘A’.
But no heed I pay.
I light my illuminate blaze.
Not an arsonist—
Just someone who is unlevered.
May 22, 2025
May 22, 2025 at 8:46 AM UTC
The Scarlet Refusal
The box. The chains.
The absolution.
“It ends the pain,” they say.
But what is there for me to gain?
My shackles long slipped the rein.
It’s your box, your chain, that detains.
I abandoned that game.
“It sticks,” they say.
“It rebels,” they voice.
A bright red ‘A’.
But no heed I pay.
I light my illuminate blaze.
Not an arsonist—
Just someone who is unlevered.
A poem about reclaiming autonomy after being branded, boxed, and burdened by someone else’s shame. It’s not about destruction—it’s about illumination. A refusal wrapped in scarlet, and a quiet blaze of becoming.
