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 May 2018 Just makayla
Marcelo
Cuts
 May 2018 Just makayla
Marcelo
Don't Think You Can Judge Me By The Scars On My Wrists.

I HAVE MANY MORE
One cuts, two cuts, three cuts, four
You don't know what to do anymore.
Five cuts, six cuts, seven cuts, eight
Stop yourself before it's too late.
Ninth cut, tenth cut, eleventh twelfth
Put the blade back on the shelf.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen
You don't know how much you mean.
Seventeen cuts, eighteen cuts, nineteen cuts, then twenty
You don't need anymore, you already have plenty.
it's not that I want to ruin my body,
but you ruined it.
you did this to me
cuts
they don't make me any stronger,
in fact they make me weak.
all the pain, all the truth
I wear like a battle wound.
you
you did this to me.
and for some reason, the loss of my own blood doesn't upset me.
the loss of my dignity doesn't upset me.
but, the loss of you does.
-s.m.
56 days clean
 May 2018 Just makayla
Holly
Cuts
 May 2018 Just makayla
Holly
Cuts heal,
The memories stay,
Scars fade,
But i'm not okay.
It's almost like her demons are in her blood
And the blade is their final expulsion
Don't hurt yourself gorgeous, I know why you do it but remember who you really are x
The choice to cut is a signal .
I am trying no more ,
Taking a break from doing my best .

There are reasons why one would do it .

To ease the tension ;
Express emotional pain ;
To punish the body for its history ,
Or alleviate inner rage .

To express shame ;
To provide biochemical relief .
 May 2018 Just makayla
LS
The cuts turned into scars
Months ago
But I still flinch when
The showers spray
Touches it
Old habits die hard when new memories are raw.
Her blood ran deep
So did her cuts.
She loved seeing the blood slowly seep from her wrists
and she covered them up
She broke glass and cut too deep
Her scars are what hold her past-
-Or what's left of it.
She never told anybody
She thought she deserved it.
Now, a year clean, her scars show her
fears
faults
memories
weaknesses.
But she's proud.
 May 2018 Just makayla
Sierra
My wrists and thighs
Tattooed with white stripes

My mind consumed in darkness

My eyes clouded with nothingness..

My wrists and thighs stained red

My mind fading

My eyes rimmed with lack of sleep

Depression.

s.j.d
This was my first poem.  I hate to be mainstream with depression poems but this was the first one I had ever written.
Anxiety reverberates through my body. My chest becomes so heavy that it feels as if a cinderblock has been lied down on it. All of my body's involuntary functions pause to listen to the demons that live in the back of my head. The demons announce to my anatomy that I have no worth, no value. The demons mock my lungs, "Why work so hard to keep her breathing when nobody on earth wants her alive." My body receives the criticisms and obeys the demon's demands. My lungs quit. I cannot breath. My mouth quits. I cannot speak, the only sounds escaping are soft screams. My ears quit. I hear nothing, besides the demons. My stomach quits. It tries to commit suicide by consuming itself causing me to curl into a ball in severe agony. My eyes try to fight off the negativity. They push the negativity out through tears, but it isn't enough. They look myself over in the mirror, trying to find some value. My eyes explore my entire body, searching desperately for something beautiful, something worth fighting for. They find nothing, but disappointment. My hands fight too. They find a blade and slide it across my wrist, a demon escapes me through the tear in my skin. My body feels a slight relief, but soon a different demon rekindles my self disgust. I let the blade dance across my body, over and over again, feeling slight relief each time. Eventually my entire body is bleeding and I am still only slighting relieved of my pain. My eyes work with my hands on the search to find a place to help the demons to escape. There is no place on my body left, that I could use to release my demons. My crying has stopped and enough demons have left my system to breath comfortably. I put the blade away, and slip into bed, my entire body aching. The physical pain is much easier to handle than the physical and emotional torture the demons would have caused. I lay in bed, trying to be as still as possible to avoid agitating my wounds. I cry to myself silently, because I know I'm going to have to rip myself open again tomorrow night. I feel numb enough to eventually to fall into a slumber. Will I spend the rest of my life rereleasing the same demons over and over again, just to feel unsatisfied and numb? Are my demons right? Is my life worthless? Especially considering I'm at my best either when I'm unconscious or when I'm numb? I am so tired of being numb. Agonizing numbness.
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