Becoming

Barefaced, my anger bleeds colors retained too long. Surviving just beneath allegiance and it's propensity to deny; this is no newborn screaming for ignorance sake. This is the ancient brew which was placed on a shelf by idealism only to age into the brutally strong elixir merely waiting to devastate the foolishly bold lips that seek to tempt it's source.
Even I am afraid of what these rumblings will breed. I would choose to hide away rather than candidly leak this malignant toxin into the beauty around and without my troubled frame. I am not so blind as to deny how grotesquely this acrimony hangs on me. Grace and beauty cannot know my name as I am now; I can hardly choose to embrace it myself.
I am...
Unbecoming.
My bitter anger, my grief unveiled...
Unbecoming.
The conflict that breaks my neck and bends my black and white to gray...
Unbecoming.
I am...
...on the road to what's becoming of me.