The marks that line my arm
Were done in the topic of harm.
The lines that cover my wrists
Are kinda like long lists.
The wounds I draw on my skin
Are there to remind me I do not fit in.
Society is cruel to us.
Sometimes I wish to get hit by a bus.
But then the light flows
And the wind blows
And my idle remind me
That I am not a bee.
That I am not alone
And that he does not condone
People like me harming ourselves
Because we are not someone's elves.
And we can take a stand
And make a band
Of people against this negativity