i still remember the first time.
i was fourteen.
things were starting to break.
friends turning distant,
the girls who used to carry me
now looking the other way.

i grabbed a pair of kids’ scissors.
they were blue.
my cheeks were soaked with tears.
i had never done this before,
but i had heard about it.

i put the blade to my wrist.
it hurt.
a lot.
but i did it again.
and again.

we made up the next day.
everything seemed okay again.
but i didn’t stop.
i liked the sting,
going to school with it still burning.

blue scissors turned into
pocket knives,
kitchen knives,
blades from pencil sharpeners.
i cried when nothing came out.

and later,
when my whole arm went numb,
i didn’t stop.
i think i liked that, too.
i don’t know why.

i still have the blue scissors.