****
I meant to tell you on my own terms!
I really did, I didn't lie to you then!
I know who ******* did this, they'll get it soon.
But anyway, I really wanted to tell you myself,
I didn't want somebody else to let you know,
And make you confront me like that again,
I really did want to tell you.
But things happen,
I took my sweatshirt off in the wrong place
I never find a real safe space
So, since you know about it now
What will you go and do about it?
Am I still yours?
All I have left is the lingering pain in my legs
Don't make me wear shorts for a few months,
I can't head to the pool this summer
I told somebody I knew that I like to swim
He asked if I had a pool,
I realize that this year, some things might have to change
Since over the winter,
I changed so much,
I'll ever be the same
Do strangers make large assumptions
Do they see me as a devil?
Do I go to hell because I hurt?
How is it my fault that I saw no other option?
I keep at least one sharp object around me at all times
Just in case I need it.
This poem is scattered,
It bounces from subject to subject
From telling my mother to swimming in the summer,
One central piece relates to everything in my life
The cutting, and the inability to stop it.
Mar 20
Mar 20, 2026 at 5:28 PM UTC
****
I meant to tell you on my own terms!
I really did, I didn't lie to you then!
I know who ******* did this, they'll get it soon.
But anyway, I really wanted to tell you myself,
I didn't want somebody else to let you know,
And make you confront me like that again,
I really did want to tell you.
But things happen,
I took my sweatshirt off in the wrong place
I never find a real safe space
So, since you know about it now
What will you go and do about it?
Am I still yours?
All I have left is the lingering pain in my legs
Don't make me wear shorts for a few months,
I can't head to the pool this summer
I told somebody I knew that I like to swim
He asked if I had a pool,
I realize that this year, some things might have to change
Since over the winter,
I changed so much,
I'll ever be the same
Do strangers make large assumptions
Do they see me as a devil?
Do I go to hell because I hurt?
How is it my fault that I saw no other option?
I keep at least one sharp object around me at all times
Just in case I need it.
This poem is scattered,
It bounces from subject to subject
From telling my mother to swimming in the summer,
One central piece relates to everything in my life
The cutting, and the inability to stop it.
