you close your eyes and
wrap your arms around yourself,
trying to make yourself as small as possible

you turn off the lights
and hide under the blankets
and suddenly you're seven years old again

hiding under the bed,
hands clamped over your sister's ears,
trying to be strong for the both of you

even though you were seven and
she was only four and
you forfeited your childhood

in the hopes that your baby sister,
the only thing that matters to you,
could grow up happy

you squeeze your eyes shut and
will yourself not to cry,
to stay strong

because she is not worth your tears
and you whisper 'i am strong'
to yourself over and over again

but it doesn't help,
nothing helps anymore,
except for counting

every day you wake up and
add one more tally to your notebook;
a scorecard of how long you've survived

it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth
every time you look at it,
a reminder of your weakness

you take it out sometimes
on nights like this,
to remind yourself that you are good

but then you get an ache in your chest
and your eyes glance over to the bottom drawer
where, hidden away in the back corner, are your blades

and your fingers twitch over your wrist,
like a reflex, and you want to feel the burn once more
you just want to feel again

you want to feel the blade pierce your skin
and watch the blood drip down your arm,
pooling on the bed, staining it

a wave of embarrassment washes over you,
because you're itching to hurt yourself,
and you promised you wouldn't do it again

you try to steady your breath
when she raises her voice again
but it doesn't work

you hear her coming towards your room
and hold your breath
and stay as still as possible

you pretend to be asleep
and take even breaths
and maybe she won’t hurt you