Your Love
it is the equivalent
of hate.

Your Hate
it is the equivalent
of a ******.

Your Anger
it is the equivalent
of lust.

so scratch me
bite me
rake your nails down my back.

and then moan
cry out
your legs are shaking.

Maybe I'll bruise you
whip you
and make you beg for mercy.

Don't get me wrong...
I love you.
Need you.
Want you.
I will never let you go.

You cannot escape me
You will not escape me
You shouldn't want to...

I Love how you make feel
And how I make you feel
Scared.
Abused.
Loved.
Hated.
Needed.
Wanted.
Used.

So say my name,
And I'll never let you leave.

People that don't self harm
Don't seem to understand it.
But I don't expect them to.

First, it hurts, A LOT.
It hurts when you first do it
And it hurts the next day.
It hurts when your long sleeves rub against it
And it hurts when you look at what you did.

Next, cuts bleed, A LOT.
At first they don't bleed,
You start cutting deeper,
Then they bleed, a lot.
It doesn't stop bleeding.

Please don't tell me to just stop.
I can't just stop.
It's so addicting.
Even though I want to stop,
I can't.

It starts out as you control it,
But then it ends up controlling you.
You want to wear short sleeves?
Think again, you can't.
You want to go swimming with friends?
Oh yeah, they'll probably think you're crazy.

Every time you do it one more time,
It becomes more and more addicting.
Just one more you think, but no.
This is the last time, but it's not.
You can't just stop.

I don't mean to hurt the people around me.
In that moment, all I can think about is
Hurting myself.
I'm sorry for hurting everyone else
While I'm hurting myself.

one cool blade, against pale
skin pressing lightly just
a bit then a bit
harder

no red so again just a bit
harder, against the smooth
surface until it
breaks

pain does not shoot through
your veins it is merely
routine, one way of
relief

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Do you?
You can’t read me like an open book.
You have no idea what I truly think.
What makes you so sure I even see you as a friend like the way you see me?

You see me
as a studious girl, diligently finishing my work
as an intelligent girl, acing the tests in the subjects I’m good at
as a responsible girl, always carrying out my duties with zeal and efficiency
as a kind hearted girl, courteous and honest
You also see me
as a mean girl who gossips about others
as a conceited girl who brags on and on about herself
as a selfish girl who does things only if it is to her benefit
as a coward who is afraid of so many things
as a lazy *** who does nothing in weekends
The list goes on.

Just because you see the good and the bad of me, you think
you know me.
Do you?
Don’t be too quick to answer that question.

You will never know the nights I spend going insane
thinking about myself
thinking about you
thinking about others
You will never know about the times when I breakdown into a useless emotional wreck
with the tiniest action from someone
You will never know about the certain few nights and what I did to myself
and how I cry
on and on, nails digging deep into my palms, on and on, uncontrollably hyperventilating, on and on… even when I don’t want to.
You will never know about the content in my diary
what these words really mean
what my purposes are

You will never know about the way my brain is wired
about the way I see the world
about the way my mind is poisoned, tainted, corrupted, trained to manipulate, functioned to lie.

You don’t know me even if you think you do.

You don’t know about how much I fear myself while I type these words
while I’m thinking about the pain in my heart and how it is therapeutic.

My lips are parched, my throat is dry, my breath is coming out in slow deliberate long breaths.
My mind stays warped, damaged and tainted.
The edges of my eyes hurt from too much rubbing.
My heart is still hurting, as it does every day and night.
My eyes stay shut as I think about how I am going to survive tomorrow.

You ask me why I hate everyone. You ask me why I am so pessimistic. You ask me why I am so irritable. You ask me so many questions and you say
“I know what you’re thinking.”*
Do you
when I don’t even know myself anymore?