Ink-Stained Fingers

A poem for my WIP 'Fight For Me'

Fingers appearing permanently bruised
Stained from years of preferring pens to graphite
The blue marks born from faded black ink 
No amount of scrubbing ever seems to erase it completely

You call them a disgrace.
No well bred lady would ever be caught dead with a mark of common employment
You force me to hide them in gloves or behind my back

You do not see that they are marks of my work
A testament to a mind you did not see the brilliance of.
With each stroke of my pen
Each page turned in a notebook now carefully guarded
I create life and new worlds
I bear the blood of my creations on my fingers proudly