untitled (shadow poem writing)

this is a poem to myself whom I've mistrusted 364 days a year whose blue-green eyes have been opened to shadows falling long across Martha Road freckled with the end of the day red-sunset sunshine and accessorized with mocha fawns and orange trumpet vines. I scarred my mind's retina with alcohol, fear and hate for myself because I didn't know I was beautiful and wise with a sharp tongue and a combustible wit. but nobody knows that about themselves and must be shown and shown again until they believe because I think anyone can be redeemed, especially me so I write this for me, for recovery, for life.