i spilled nail polish 

& it dripped right through the year 
into the next where it lingered 
as a burgundy ghost standing on the carpet.
my life has been full of smudges 
& stains. grease making a dress 
translucent. oil always spatters
in the shapes of new continents.
there is a bowl of finger paint
lingering in the living room. i dip my fingers
to leave my prints all over my parent's couch.
there are many ways to be memorable
& one is letting yourself blotch any scene.
i used to wish i had a birthmark
& i would search my skin for one
until i decided i would just make my own 
with a bowl of ketchup & a hot spoon.
the nail polish drips until it forms 
a waterfall of color & little silver beads.
teal & black & pink & gold. 
not only people with uteruses will wake up
in schemes of their own blood.
it is only a matter of time before 
you start imprinting color. my blood 
is blue on some cold nights when 
i read poetry at my desk & dream 
of great stretches of water. 
water is terrible at undying. 
sure it is persistent but where is
the bruising? the fingerprint?
i had my fingerprints done once
at a small police station in pennsylvania.
i stood & let a uniformed man 
dip my fingers in ink & press them 
at all different angles. the nail polish ghosts 
stood watching & nodding. 
they were hoping the ink would be
a more vibrant color & all the way home
in my car they spilled & spilled some more.
i see them always in my vision now
as different stains. grass is very good 
at leaving your knees green. 
i crawled on all fours too much.
the best traces are the ones 
only you know about. in my apartment now
there is a tiny speck of red paint
fallen from my mouth & onto the carpet. 
i moved my bed over top of it so no one will see.
sometimes when i'm alone i check on it 
& it glares like a single eye.