post its

the man beside me,
a little to the left
cripple in both legs
whispers softly, 'live'

the labels i write
titles i give myself
of what i am
or who i should be
refuse to stick,
keep falling at my feet

slowly growing piles
bigger words, stronger glue
and still they fill the floor

so now i'm writing on my flesh
carving into my arms
these names i want the world to see
the gospel which i share

look at the dried blood on my hands
from cutting words on myself
the battered man beside me
with blackened eyes
he's sworn ive caused

but the only thing i've done
is stood and screamed the words
the only one i've touched is me-
to make the lables stay

his swollen lips move, 'live'

my labels won't stay
these scars look awful;
diseased and spreading
my voice is cracked from shouting
tiny fingers brush my back
another label hits the ground

and still, the small, bent man
struggles to stand
pleading that i no longer beat him
only stain on my shoes is my blood
falling fresh from my cuts
my arms are sore, but my legs are strong
my voice is fading, but i have yet to walk

the last label almost stuck
but the little, beaten man plucked it off
blood spills through his teeth,
'live for me'