Jan 2
TW: Self-Harm
Mummy,
My flesh is my own,
Grown and sewn,
To skin and bone.
But my mind is hurt and I don't know why.
As the metal hit,
On leg to wrist,
It painted my body.
Nothing could stop me.
It was addictive,
Yet I am still alive.
Why?
From one to two,
Then some to a few.
I could not keep score,
My body is now torn.
Mummy,
My flesh is my own,
Grown and sewn,
To skin and bone.
But my mind is hurt and I don't know why.
As the metal hit,
On leg to wrist,
It painted my body.
Nothing could stop me.
It was addictive,
Yet I am still alive.
Why?
From one to two,
Then some to a few.
I could not keep score,
My body is now torn.
This is a very heavy topic for a poem, but as you may know, I do tend to write about the reality of life, and that includes mental health struggles. I wanted to write this for anyone who has struggled/struggles with self-harm. If you are one of those people, you are strong and beautiful, always.
