Crimson Woman

I wrote this poem about a year ago when I was going through a bit of a Jealous streak.

Is she such a woman to engage your unwavering gaze?
Is she such a woman to brighten your day while enticing my rage?
Are raven tresses, and olive skin, so dark they escape your notice?
In favor of pale beauty and vibrant colors to catch your focus.
You take great pleasure in my display, yet do you even know me?
You keep her locked as treasure, you keep more borne as trophy.
do you enjoy my company, can you engage my intellectuality?
or am I just something shiny, platinum plated in your reality.
Oh how I wish it was so that I still cling to the ability to trust.
But injuries worthy of annihilation have longed seen that luxury crushed.
Perhaps it's only right for you to belong to one who's not so tainted.
Vile hatred and unwavering blood lust forever upon me crimson painted.
That feeling of warmth and embrace, not something meant for me.
your touch, even your steady gaze.. to claim it would be a cruelty.
While there's blood on my hands I can't wash free, you remain so pure.
A feat of dealing with scars and wounds, a task I can't ask you to endure.
You remain the light that has been denied to me since unfortunate birth.
the most kindest , gentlest soul, I've come across on all of earth.
How long before you show ill fate and fall from glorious expectation.
I think I would rather weigh my chances against grievous decimation.
I would rather cling to fairy tales, to believe in one good soul.
Then to face the harsh reality, of truths already known.
Past cannot be altered and memories can only fade,
Scars are embedded, and we lay in beds we've made.
Is the adulteress , murderess scruple so worthy of your kindness?
Or can she fall to ruin , with her hatred and anger leading her to blindness?
Happiness found in your arms, not something I really deserve in truthfulness
Brown Braided woman who has used her body, mind , and ruthlessness.
What kind of atonement could I ever offer to know true forgiveness.
Not from your Gods, and prophets, not that I even wish it.
I know you cannot see the scars nor wounds, yet they remain.
How I long for a day, when I can be proud to hear my own name.
Allow me to walk this path alone, no one can travel this journey for me.
Maybe when all paths are complete I can become worthy of someone adoring.