I'm anything but resilient.
My arms, firing with fumes of vengeance,
Fall back to my sides in weariness.
Once again, the fight is over;
Once again, the fight has just begun.
Without taking another sip
Of the purest water,
I allow myself to quench my thirst
With the taste of my own medicine--
Which, if I do add, tastes remarkably divine.
My teeth are stained with goldish yellow
As my cheeks are stained with mom's red
And my hands are, too, splattered
With the ink I am most allergic to.
The ink, a somber hue,
Burns into my skin, layer by layer,
As it morphs me into a thin person.
I am worn thin.
The ink,
infused by ill words spoken about my name,
spreads throughout  my bloodstream;
The ink poisons me so.