when they tear your heart from your chest,
use the blood to paint a portrait of your soul and proudly display it for them to see
use the blood as ink and write into your skin:
this is who I am. I am not who you told me to be
and watch their face as it sinks in
let it bleed across a blank page until it becomes an inkblot of me, all me
make them tell you what they see in it, force them to put a name to your essence
wear the worn out husk on your sleeve, a badge of honor screaming:
you bled me dry and yet
I live on.