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  Jun 2014 Rhian Marie
shåi
he was
special for me
he meant so much
to me

i assumed that
serrated wrists
might be very repugnant
to him

so,
i never let them show

one day,
he did indeed see
his face showed
signs of raw emotion

he did not see
the slashed wrists
or the drawn lines
he saw deeper

he saw the intentions
behind those straight lines
(maybe they were jagged)
and the kindness
that reeked of his heart
ached to help

or maybe it was pity at the time.

believe in yourself is
what he said
but his words seemed
like a deep dead end

he said
that those marks
did not define i was
or who i am today

it was
a mark of the past
a memory aching to be forgotten
battle scars.

he urged
me to let go
but that doesn't seem easy as it sounds

later he left
and the story remains
just another boy
i had loved and lost

pain still lives
just as it once did
except it had all just
been on my mind

(b.d.s.)
if you don't understand this poem: it is not about self harm on the body but  on the mind and courage... thanks for reading.. any suggestions PLEASE COMMENT OR SEND A MESSAGE! thank you :)
  Jun 2014 Rhian Marie
Lyteweaver
I wonder how you love me
when I'm a total mess?
Or how you wait patiently
sopping up tears with tenderness?

How is it that you love me
when I spit venom of blame?
Or turn my heart on and off
siphoning life from our veins?

How is it that you love me
when I'm always on edge?
Or when I'm crying then raging
with one toe over the ledge?

How is that you love me
when you watch me try to escape?
A dysfunctional drain swirling
with anger and self-hate.

What must it be like
to love a woman like me?
I bet it's hard to watch
the abuse from my worst enemy;  me.

I wonder how you love me?
Tell me please.
Lucky me to have the heart
of the man who sees all of me.
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