Life began as an embryo
boldly kicking and screaming
relishing in the first crucial gasp of air
"What a beautiful girl!"
Your father cried.

Little did we know
seventeen years later,
razor blades would find out your soft skin
gliding like scissors on gift wrap
smoothly, elegantly.

Scattered on our ocean blue bathroom tiles
your crimson blood stains.
Redness
thickness
the bubbling of your blood.

Seconds before you slice
the advice of your so-called best friend flashes
"Cut vertically"
She whispered.
"They can't sew that up"

Mother's instinct knew
you didn't want to die.
The mess you were in on the rough cold tiles
pleading "Mum! Mum! I'm so sorry"
You sliced horizontally.

18 months on
one psychiatrist
87 therapy sessions
endless tears
and a bottle of pills in our medicine cabinet.