Yes,
I cut myself.
And you know what?
I like it.
Yes,
I'm a cutter.
And you know what?
I accept that.
Embrace it, in fact.
Cause after 9 years of a blood-stained adolescence
These scars are just a part of me,
And these wounds are a lifestyle
That I choose.
My addiction to pain does not weaken me,
My lust for blood does not make me a freak,
My scars do not make me ugly-
I am beautifully broken;
And I'll cut myself on the shards of who I am,
But at least I haven't stabbed myself with them yet.
Yes,
I wear long sleeves and pants around friends and family
But when my cuts heal to scars
I do not fear to let them breathe and be
Exposed.
It is not for attention,
It's to tell the world that no one can hurt me
More than myself.
I am covered in scar tissue,
But I am one tough-*** ***** from hell.
And I really don't give a **** what you think about that.
I don't want to "quit."
Because I'm writing my story in silver-
And it comes out red.
It's the closest thing to "real"
That I can control.
So yes,
I cut myself.
And yes,
I am a cutter.
Don't be surprised to find more marks in my flesh
Because they are part of me
And I actually like that part.
I don't have to be in pain to inflict pain,
Don't have to be numb to want to feel something,
I don't have to be angry or guilty,
Bored or depressed-
Just because I am those things, I don't always
Have to cut them out.
Sometimes I just like the way it feels
And looks after;
Red blood on white wrists, and
I've got silver eyes.
See, this is my way of life,
And it's all I've ever known.
I know one day I'll die of suicide,
But this is just feeling something in the meantime.
I'm a cutter;
And I'll die a cutter.
Whoever finds my mutilated body
Will read my story,
And they won't understand,
But at least they won't be surprised.
My lust for blood does not make me a freak,
And my scars show the world I'm a warrior.
I'm fighting this endless battle in my mind
But each cut
Is a symbol that I've lived to fight another day.