I've taught you something new.
I've shown you something fun.
You've thanked me for it all.

I took your hand and weaved my fingers through yours.
There, now you can say you've held someone's hand.
The first time he held a woman's hand.

I took your face and turned your neck and kissed your cheek.
There, now you can say you've been kissed.
The first time a woman has kissed him with some passion.

You took my face and I gave you my cheek and you kissed.
There, now you can say you've kissed a girl.
The first time he has kissed a woman with some passion.

I took your face and kissed your lips slowly and purposefully.
There, now you can  really  say you've been kissed.
The first time a woman has kissed your lips.

You took my face and kissed my lips nervously.
There, now you can  really  say you've kissed a girl.
The first time he has kissed a woman.

I've shown you how I kiss.
You've shown me your nerves.
But you've done well.

I grabbed your jacket and pulled you towards me.
I kissed you with passionate wanting and you opened your lips.
The first time he's been surprised by the passion.

You put your arms around my back and pulled me towards you.
You kissed me with nervous passion and our tongues intertwined.
I didn't teach him this one, he's learning for himself.

I've shown you some firsts.
And you've decided what you want.
Next time we meet, there will be more.

I roll up my sleeves
just like you have asked.
Around those who might
understand.

I show the baby scars,
a checkerboard of tan and pink.
A forearm wearing a heart.

Please watch my face for emotions
as I watch yours react.

I'll see you accept or reject
the girl wearing this broken body.

There are times
so often
I think to myself
do I have the right
to label myself?
Wondering if
the cuts I make
are deep enough,
bleed enough,
scar enough,
created enough,
for me to be a cutter.

But I must be.
Because I do.
I must be.
Because my skin is
purple and red lines
of scars.
I must be.
Because I see a pencil sharpener
and remember where my
screwdriver is.
I must be.
Because I was hospitalized
and even they were surprised
at the destruction.

So I must be a cutter.
But I don’t have the right
to label myself.

I only know me.
And I don’t matter.
So I must not be one.

*But I am one

When being/living with so much pain
Do anything to face away
Some point suicide the only option.
Pain/love one and the same
Confusion of the mind.
Get. Out.
Do not come back
No Solicitors
Do not bring Hell/Heaven here
Already living in that loft.
Try to sell
go to a motel
rent a car
get a flight
Join please ~~~ or don’t.
You’re choice - only yours.

Break a cup in the sink
Shatter the glass
Pick the biggest,
sharpest,
best piece.
Run the water
put the point against my skin
against the blue vein.
Press.
Make my hand bleed from holding
Make my wrist bleed from pressing.
Pull.
Create a line and pull some more
Press some more.
Make the blood come.
Watch it flow
until vision is black.
Colapse.
Mom or dad, it doesn’t matter
find me on the kitchen floor.
911.
Am I dead?
Or barely alive?
Failure either way.

Bravery comes in many forms.
It changes forms depending on it’s friend.

We take the brave to conquer demons
in different, personal ways.

Being brave is different for everyone,
it has a different face.

With respect we watch people fight
with swords, or guns, or more.

We may have similar fighting styles
but truth says no-one is the same.

Being brave is a personal thing.
And I respect the way you fight.

These medications make my emotions hazy.
An inversion in Salt Lake, Utah occurs in my mind.
The surrounding mountains of guilt and shame
create the perfect bowl for smog to stay.
Hiking up peaks to view the city lights
and instead I see halos of gold through fake fog.
Back down to a car that swerves through canyons
while going just slow enough to see the road’s edge.
Walking up and down the streets no one can tell
of the poison we all breathe in together.
Utah, a happy place, where strangers smile at each other
and try to force themselves to believe that they are not fake.

“I live in a constant state of maybe next week.”
He was talking about cash and change,
money being tight
worrying about what will come.
Will he be able to eat?

But the words I hear speak in different shapes.
Talking of energy and motivation
that does not exist in this stupid body.
The way I say, “Let’s hang out next week.”
To cancel with my best friend.
Hoping for new energy to appear
in the seven days I wait.

One tear rolls on my cheek
and I tell myself to bury these emotions.
Two tears start to roll
and I buy the shovel I need.
Three tears begin to make a stream
and I start to dig the hole, deeper than before.
Four tears and a river is made
but into the hole they start to go.
Five tears and I’ve found the magic way
to divert the river to a ditch, away from my eyes.
Four tears while the river goes back to a stream
and I start to think about gaining control.
Three tears and the stream starts to dry up
like I’ve been forcing my eyes to do.
Two tears and it’s almost gone
dried up and buried.
One tear and I throw away the shovel
as it is not longer needed.
My emotions have been buried again
deeper than before so they can’t find me anymore.

There is nothing everywhere.
Nothing is in the space between somethings.
I stare at nothing.
After pushing feelings down deeper than I have before.
I welcome nothing.
I become nothing.
I am nothing.
So I may as well **** myself.

Hold me close
but do not touch me.
Treat me well
but do not take me for granted.
Never let me go
but let me leave.
Learn all of my faults
but let me be me.
Get to know me
but do not leave me.