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