The Portal to Visual Expression

I am throwing myself around the room.
The high, straight white walls
stained with my dirty handprints,
Blue and violet and fuchsia.

My hair sticks to my face and my naked shoulders
in wet trails
and the streams of the purple
oozing from my scalp
form tributaries over my bare bones
down the small contours
of my collar and chest.

The distinct misshapen oval stamp of a shoulder
in the corner,
a dark, thick rouge
that isn’t paint, as the
blue and violet and fuchsia
handprints.

A tear across the length of my shoulder blades,
a portal emerging from the flow of blood and paint.
All my inspirations escape through
and are now raggedly interwoven with the reality
in the violently mottled room.

3/3/09
Tatiana Robinson
from They Say Your Tears Are Warm