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Blood

A poem about blood

By Solo GamezPublished 5 years ago 1 min read
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There is only a split second before you and

tragedy are shaking hands. For me, I was a

second too late. I was trapped in a bear hug by

tragedy before I even knew what was happening.

I felt something wet drip down the side

of my face. As I began to assess the damages, I looked

down at my fingers. The color red was there to greet me.

This was when I knew exactly what it was.

Liquid oxygen.

Blood.

My blood.

As I let the initial shock flow through me,

after I have reached that the understanding that

my literal life force was on the outside of my body, I looked for a mirror.

I then realize where the blood is coming from.

There was only a small gash on my eyebrow, but it

had started a revolution and broken down a wall. My blood

had been liberated, and it was seeking a place of refuge.

The trail it traveled had made its way down

to my eye and made its way behind my contact,

attempting to blind me for a clean getaway.

Some that are part of the revolution had found that my eye

was not their place so they continue southward,

causing me to cry, my tears were substituted with the

representation of life. I felt the burn, as if to say

look at how you had messed up.

From all of this, I realized that I

liked seeing the blood on my face.

“Though I am bruised, face of contusions, I will keep moving.”

I was bloodied and bruised, but I was far from broken.

Everything still worked.

“Rust around the rim. Drink it anyway. Cut my lip.”

My heart was still pumping. My brain was still

functioning. This was an all too real reminder that I

am going to die one day.

The blood on my face was not wasted,

it had only given me permission to live again,

and to make an impact.

performance poetry
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About the Creator

Solo Gamez

Words that have the power to move mountains.

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