Regeneration

It used to be
that the poems I wrote
were on my skin,
inscribed in mute red ink,
not to be shared with
anyone. Those words faded
to a milky white, their
meaning lost in the
regeneration of cells.
Now my pen gushes all over
the page, getting blood
on everyone who reads.
These words will not fade.
Perhaps that is why I
changed my writing implement.
Perhaps my skin is not
the only thing that has
regenerated.

~September 23, 2010