She hides her hands in her baggy sleeves.
Her hands are too dangerous to be seen.

She has done unspeakable things with them.
To herself,
To others.

Her hands are agents of pain
Whether it’s landing a punch on a friend’s arm for stepping behind her back,
Paying for something she insisted was hers to cover.

Or the choke hold she has on a razor, tracing her skin in red ink,
A suicide note that will never be read.

Each action wounds, yet both hurt others more than they hurt her.

Her friends are upset for she has hit them too hard
Their kindness met with violence.
They only wanted to help,
Yet her hands betrayed her again.

When they see what marks she made on herself,
They cry because they know they can’t stop her.
They plead but her hands don’t listen.

She offers empty words in return .
“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The truth hangs in the air, unspoken, following her like a storm.
Did she not mean it?
Or is she just using apologies like bandages,
Covering the wounds she inflicts pretending they heal?

She says she’s sorry for hurting herself.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,”
The lie escapes her lips.
She is not sorry.
She does not regret the way her skin feels warm beneath the sting

You warm yourself by wearing a borrowed sweater
She warms herself with the edge of a stolen blade.

She hides her hands in her sleeves,
Not to protect herself,
To shield others from the horror of what her hands can do.
They are not innocent—they never were.

She hides her hands so you won’t be scared of her,
Most of all, so she won’t have to face them either.

It doesn’t matter how much you crave to be wanted;
if you are not desired, you vanish.
Someone will love you as you are,
They have to.
Right?
Or are you truly as unlovable as you feel?

Violent, sinister thoughts make you tremble;
You fight to hold them back,
closing your eyes to banish them.
Clenching fists to stay in control,
they terrify you.

These thoughts wound you from within,
scraping at the walls of your mind,
escaping in ugly ways—
a blade,
fingers pressing into skin,
nightmares that rob you of sleep.

You love suffering.
It gives you reason to be seen,
a bitter kind of attention,
a dark muse.

That’s why you’re never truly happy
You will always start a fire,
You would rather burn than be forgotten.

She needed to be gutted like a pumpkin-
Hollowed
Every thought and feeling scooped away
Each clinging piece of her gouged
see what remains when all the built-up **** is gone.

Would she be purified?
Bright and clean
A flame glowing inside

Or would she find only emptiness?
A hollow shell without the weight of lies
With nothing left to fill the void.

Would she still shine as bright without the dark?
The same darkness passed down generations.
It may come in different forms,
but darkness always remains.

What is she without the masks she wears?
Without the seeds of doubt
Planted deep
the tangled vines of fear that wrap around her soul?

She needs to be carved open
see what shape she can make of herself
find if there’s still light within her
Or just a flicker
Dim and fading.

Perhaps
Like a pumpkin
She can be hollowed
Shaped to shine anew
Even with her insides scraped away

She looks into the mirror
Carves out a smile
And hopes her light doesn’t go out.

I look at the photographs my mom keeps on the fridge,
a timeline of childhood, stacked in grade order-
my brother two years ahead, always slightly out of reach.
In those pictures, I search for the little girl I used to be,
she’s buried beneath the stretched smiles,
the practiced posture,
the brown eyes staring back at me with something missing.
The clear skin,
the natural hair I never learned to love.

I remember standing in front of the mirror,
staring into those brown eyes,
wishing for them to be prettier,
brighter-
some color that wasn’t so ordinary.
I wanted them to sparkle like the ones I admired,
all I saw were shadows.

I remember pulling at strands of my hair,
unsatisfied with the way they felt.
Too dark, too light,
never enough of one or the other.
I wished I could be different,
anything but what I was.

I pressed on my teeth before the braces came,
willing them to straighten,
to mold into something beautiful.
when the brackets arrived,
I ran my tongue over them,
flinching as the metal pinched,
as if it were the price of becoming someone new.
I thought that if I could fix the outside,
maybe the inside would follow.

I remember that little girl-
the one who whispered ugly into the mirror
before she could even reach over the counter,
before she knew what weight the word carried,
somehow already knew it applied to her.
She whispered it like a secret,
as if saying it enough times would make it true,
maybe then the world would match the way she felt.

You wanted to end it all,
silence the noise inside your mind,
stop handing tools to the people around you-
tools that stoked the fire beneath your skin,
you boil over, unseen, unheard.

You blinded yourself with endless giving,
pouring out so much of yourself for others,
only to feel the sting of abandonment
no one held you in return.
In your haze of suffering,
You didn’t see the hands that reached for you,
feel the love in the corners of your pain.

You wanted to disappear quietly,
a silent scream to echo in their lives forever.
Suicide is the final act of selfishness-
the last word in a conversation no one wanted to hear.

It would have been your release,
a way out of the prison you’d built inside yourself.
You planned it meticulously-
the blades, the hours, the motions.
You traced escape into your skin,
You couldn’t do it.

You reached out,
exposed the rawness of your breaking,
You were met with scolding words,
a mix of anger and relief.
They praised you for asking for help,
their words told you this is just how life is-
a river you have to swim,
no matter how many times you feel like drowning.
“Don’t hurt yourself over every little thing,” they said,
as if the weight of it all was just a passing breeze.

It was a slap,
a reminder that you were not allowed
to feel the depth of your own pain.
You’ve always been told your attitude is the problem,
they never understood the battle inside-
how long you’ve been keeping it all together with trembling hands.

You were breaking,
bound to the suffering you can never escape.
You will search for that release every day,
quiet moments when the world stops,
when you can’t bear the weight of pretending anymore.
You used to cut the pain out,
a ritual of release,
they saw it as another way of killing yourself.

Not cutting?
That is killing you, too.

Torn in two directions,
You had to choose-
betray yourself,
or betray your family.
You still betray them,
hiding it with practiced lies,
learning to live in the shadows.
it gets harder to conceal the truth,
to find new ways to explain the marks.

They always told you
it’s okay to do what you need,
as long as it doesn’t hurt others-
how do they reconcile that
when your pain spills over,
cutting becomes the only sweetness,
candy that rots you from the inside out

It’s harm that does more harm,
it’s all you know.

Trapped.
You hear them outside the door,
hushed voices beckoning you—
Coaxing a frightened animal.

You sit,
desperate to halt the spiral,
grasping for lifelines you don’t have:
no blade, no music.
Cornered.

Familiar voices call out,
None are safe.
Your mind races,
chased by the fear of being seen—
their worry,
their pity.
All you ever accomplish is being a burden.

Be better,
Have fun,
laugh in the glow of a carefree moon.
Instead crescent moons dance across your hands
Nails the paint nocturnes of your pointless pain
Your hands the canvas

Why do you ruin everything?
Why do you have to make it about yourself?
The thoughts drag you under.
To quiet them,
Hurt them,
Make them stop.

Your sleeve slides up.
Scars stare back,
silent witnesses to your retreat,
Reminders of your broken promises
Of histories rule,
It repeats.
Search for sharper objects—
Teeth.

Not enough.
The voices outside continue,
reassuring whispers
Into enemies
by chaos in your head.

A note slips beneath the door:
“Are you okay?”
You cannot answer—
Your voice belongs to them now.
You tear the paper,
a feeble attempt at communication.
They don’t understand.
You don’t understand.

You bite harder,
bruises blooming nightshade.
Punishment for the scene you’ve caused.
Please, let this be enough,
To quiet your thoughts,
To return you to normal.

Your mind slows,
as bedtime is called.
Your legs obey,
breath steadies.
The door slides open.

You slip past their outstretched hands-
“I just want to go to bed,”
Your hollow voice is a stranger’s.

Beneath foreign sheets,
Rub your arms,
guilt pools in your chest.
Apologize for the scene,
worrying him.

Knock at his cabin door,
he doesn’t answer.
leave a message:
“I’m okay.”

It’s a lie.
You know will haunt you forever.
Why do you always make a scene?

To walk unburdened,
Her feet had other plans.
Each step betrayed her, a quiet battle—
She fought for composure, found only pain.
This was supposed to be enjoyable,
Time to bask in nature's beauty.

She lagged, guilt swallowed her
Heavier than her faltering strides.
Her friends slowed, offering help she refused,
Their kindness a reminder of her inadequacy.

At last, they reached the car—a hollow victory.
She sank into the seat,solace eluded her.
"Are you okay?" they asked,
A smile, brittle as glass appeared,
One crack away from shattering.

They stopped for refreshments,
Beckoning her to join,
She stayed,
Alone with the ache of shame and embarrassment.

Tears carved paths down her cheeks,
Release for the torment she bottled
Feet, meant to carry, betrayed her,
Every step a punishment.

Fleeting wishes stirred for a drink
She silenced it, scolding herself for the thought.
Her penance for being a burden once again.

They returned, laughter light and carefree,
Clutching their refreshments.
She drowned in her self-loathing,
Their joy echoed in her sea of shame.

Drown it out.
Silence is the enemy
When it creeps in, everything spirals into chaos.
Cut, it feels good.

Do you really not know?
Is there truth in what they say?
Answer’s left buried.
The selfish need devours you

You pick on your skin
Regret slaps you
The aftermath is revolting.

You are furious
Furious at yourself
Your skin.

The cycle is unbreakable
Why do you do that?
Knowing the outcome only worsens things.

Cutting brings relief
Twisted comfort.
Can’t you just stop?

Shame.
Shame in mother’s eyes
Shame when makeup fails to mask it
Shame of comparison
Shame of jealousy

Control.
That’s all you need
You can take back control.
Can’t you?

Again you're knocked down
claw your way to the battlefield
“You can’t keep doing this over every little thing. This is life.”

Is that an option anymore?

Reflection
Tears burn
Trapped behind hollow eyes.

You do this?
Look like this?
Feel like this?

Problems are life
You shouldn’t complain.

But you do.
It feels good
Guilt consumes you.

Disgusting.
Just shut up
Be perfect

You are left
Pits on your face
Lines on your thighs

I know what is right.
Right?

Wrong.

Then I will make it right.

I’m sorry.
I tried—
I can’t be enough.

You were enough.

No, I wasn’t.
I just need to prove it.
To you?
No, to me.

Why am I here?
I didn’t work hard enough.

Yes, you did.

No, I didn’t.

You’re a good friend.

You too.

No, I’m not.

Yes, you are.

Then why do you always leave me for them?

I don’t.

Yes, you do. You’re going right now!
No, wait—come back.
Please.
I’m sorry.
I’ll shut up.
I promise.

You are no one.

I am no one.
I need to become someone.
I can be something for you.
I can be useful.
I am here for you.

Will you come back?
I don’t care if you hurt me.
It means you see me.
It feels real.
Even if it’s only when you need something.

Hey?
Are you still there?
I helped you.
Can you help me?
Please.
But you don’t understand, do you?
No one does.

-Two sides of the same coin

She peels herself apart,
pinches and scrapes,
chasing the illusion of smoothness—
a flawless mask she will never wear.

Sleep evades her,
lost in the endless cycle,
fingertips carving valleys into flesh,
as if pain could sculpt perfection.

She knows what she’s doing.
She’s making it better.
Or is she?

It has never made it better.
She is a slave to the mirror,
to the fleeting relief of healing—
before the itch returns,
before she unravels again.

A horse visor strapped to her face,
her world narrowed to every blemish,
every imperfection screaming for erasure.

Turn back time,
restart,
anything—
Each touch rewinds the clock.

Everyone else has porcelain skin.
They don’t pick.
They have control.

She needs to tear it off,
strip away the torment,
weep until she is clean,
until the mirror stops whispering
and her hands forget the hunger.

She watches herself crumble,
scrambling to rebuild
with the same shattered pieces.

Apologize
And apologize
And apologize.

Apologize not because you are sorry
Apologize so that you are always right.
so you can get sympathy
so you don’t need to take accountability
The apology is your accountability

You are surrounded by apologizers.
It is a lesson they never meant to teach you.
It is in your blood.

Yours is a lie.
To set the score straight,
They can’t say you didn’t feel bad.
You say you didn't mean to hurt them
You hide behind your words
It is always the right thing to say

When they don’t accept your apology
Face yourself.
You are the monster
The ugly truth you bury behind your kind demeanor.

Shut those who see the truth out.
Those who stay, eventually leave
You wish they would stay,
You know you are no good for them.

Tangled vines creep,
Sprouting webs of lies into fragile reality,
Decaying slowly, as time weathers them away.

Reality, born from actions,
Yet so much slips beyond control—
A game with invisible rules.

Some trim the vines,
Others let them grow wild,
Consumed by the swarm of addiction.

They wither in the drought of tears,
Longing for the rain to fall
A weight they bear alone,
Left to suffer.

The liar
The lied to
The one who watches it happen
That is who the she is

Why does she do it-
Maybe if she didn’t she’d be okay
If she had controlled herself
If she had just said no.

Start over
Get better
Strive for the goal
Or is she just running from her mistakes?

She shouldn’t have done that
shouldn’t have let that happen
If she hadn’t you’d be okay
You would still be happy.

Sorry,
She’s so sorry,

She
Is
Sorry.

Her guilt does not purify her
So she fractures herself.

Are you sorry?

She tells them she doesn’t like things
She wants them to read her silence,
to understand what she needs without her voice breaking.
She is petty in that way-
a quiet rebellion against her vulnerability.

It’s strange how easily she slips
into the shoes of others,
knowing their weight, their wear,
Hers, worn thin, never seem to fit anyone.
Her steps lost in the echo of crowded rooms,
where she stands, unseen, unheard.

She buries herself in work,
chasing purpose through exhaustion,
driven by the hope that someone, anyone,
will see past the walls she built
and reach for her,
before she collapses under her own silence.

She unravels constantly.
Being everything for everyone
Neglecting who she cares about
Betrayed by those once in that place.

Straining for heights out of reach
She is shot down.
Her arm still outstretched

To what avail.
She sets up for failure before the idea is formed
Stuck in the cycle,
The rat on the wheel running to accomplish nothing

Dreams of leaving everyone behind coats her tongue
She is shot healing other’s bullet wounds.
Falling behind.
Self sacrifice is her core.
Her feet are tarnished
Dragging to do tasks she allowed.

Boundaries lost in her blind run for attention.
She is no stranger to lying.
She stacks lies to shield from prying eyes.
The vile deed of humanity.
We survive.
When we cannot look at ourselves,
we turn to our peers.

Flowers sprout from this hellscape.
Learn to grow your own garden

Even with stolen tools.

A hostage at home.
There is no reason to feel unsafe,
Yet safety seems to be hiding.

Suffocating in your skin.
Fire in your lungs that grows with every breath,
Eyes overflow threatening to flood your life
Hide away.
Find safety.
Shrink to that dark corner,
Escape.

That feeling,
Morbidly comforting
Always there.
Perched like an old friend

Longing for its warmth,
Emptiness consuming you
The harsh coldness of the world envelopes you
Within it, you burn.
You crawl away,
Trying to clear your eyes
from the smoke of lies and promises

Far from it,
The smoke follows you,
It holds strong onto your hair,
The stench a constant reminder.

How does one escape themselves?

Keep.
It.
Together.

Your mind ensnared,
Trapped like prey
In the eyes of a hungry predator
Scorched lungs
Your breath, soot.
No escaping the feeling.
Prey knows its purpose.

It is still your favorite place.

You, my darling, are never alone,
In the shadows, I see you—aching, unknown.
I am here with matches, I will strike them all for you.

You deserve more than this world can bestow,
Though the cards are stacked, the odds unkind,
I’ll give you my cards every time.

When the weight is heavy, your shoulders weak,
I’ll lift you higher, the strength you seek.
For in your eyes, I see the spark—
A flame that survives, through thick and thin.

So let the world deal it's cruel hand,
Together, we’ll rise, together, we’ll stand.
I’ll reshuffle the deck, rewrite your fate,
For you, my darling, I’ll forever wait.

All they see is your bark and your bite,
I see the tiredness,
the hurt that you carry,
I ache to take your pain away.

You love the hand that feeds you,
It brings you pain and pleasure
Side by side they walk,
Only the pain leaves scars.
How cruel the feast the hand brings
a stomach filled with guilt,
or hollowed by shame.

Choice is the world's most dangerous poison
It is our only cure,
the very thing that keeps us alive
Maybe we are already dead
I hate that we must drink it.

I try so hard to save you.
You, the fighting dog
The loving dog
The hurting dog

Love and hate,
so intertwined they bleed into each other.
How much more must we bleed
Before we can love each other openly?

I wish those we loved
Didn’t carve forks in the roads of our lives.

Shaky breaths rattle your bones,
Your eyes search for safety.
You feel their hands,
When you look down, nothing is there.
A cruel trick,
To prepare for next time
When you failed the first.
"No means no."
The lady says,
Her hand on your chin pulls you in
She is so tall her head reaches the clouds
She speaks with the sound of thunderstorms
"I gave you this voice. Why didn't you use it, child?”
A deer in headlights, you were frozen.
“Do they pity you?”
Like the deer wilting on the roadside.

If I give enough of myself, will you feel whole?
If I pour myself out, will there be enough room for you?
If I make myself small enough, will you feel big?
If I dim myself enough, will you shine?
If I poison myself, will you be healed?

If I **** myself, will you finally live?

A damaged box
a fragile label slapped on every angle
Demanding caution from hands that will never care
Screaming in bold red font
Not just a warning, a burden—
‘Hold to these standards,’
The weight of the label grows heavier,
An impossible request for perfection.

It’s okay
It is just the box.
It is the insides that matter
Maybe they are still intact.

Open it up
Check to see if it is broken
Don’t worry if it is
You can just get rid of it.
Guilt free
After all, it wasn’t you who broke it

Oh no,
The insides are broken too.
Now it’s trash— Discarded without a second thought.
How quickly the value of an item can drop
Does the outside define the worth within?
What if the box is pristine and the insides are broken?

What begins as a moment
A single fleeting moment
Can scar

Isolation blooms and wilts
You flick the switch,
The light never holds,
Leaving you hollow,
Craving the heat of others’ flames.

They burn you bare,
Feeding their fires with your light.
The scorched grow wary.

Some shiver forever,
Never facing the glow,
Others wield fire,
Fingers blistered from its touch.
We silently wish
For the warmth of others.

Art is to feel
Dreams and nightmares,
Love and heartbreak,
Truth and betrayal.
No one feels as you do.
Once shared, it shifts—
Perspective reshapes it,
No longer yours.
It mixes into a monster.
Still, you carry it,
A constant weight,
Inescapable, unrelenting.

A beautiful tragedy.