I will never
hide
my story.
perhaps
a warning,
or a precaution of what not
to do.
but frankly,
I wouldn’t change much.
It really did make me stronger.
allowed me more empathy,
let me see
into a little
bit of horror
others go through.

don’t you dare
judge scars,
be grateful
you’ve been
trusted
with their
story.

I think I cut too deep
Look at that cut on me
It hasn’t healed for fourteen days
It won’t never go away
Maybe they’ll finally notice
How I’m far past my lowest
Look into the open wound
Staring back with eyes of stound
Watch it drip honey
And gush out sounds of
A time when I was funny
And not the time now where I am but a dove

My fingers grab at it
             So tightly i think that they
                     Might break off into
         Tiny little pieces and
              Scatter everywhere
                     Littering the floor with
            Sharp metal shards

I came
to the conclusion
one line at a time
tripping off
commas that
I thought
left me breathless
but turned out
they were
*******
the life
out of
me

i lie in my bed at night, as the voices grow louder and louder and louder
consuming everything around me as i press my blanket to my ears, trying, desperately, to block out the noise
i need a distraction
something to take this pain away
the sharp sound of the scissors
blood clots
stabbing pain
scars on my wrists
                   you deserve it you deserve it you deserve it you deserve it  
                             you deserve the pain, the hurt, everything
                  you deserve it
the voices grow louder
                   you deserve it
and louder
                   you deserve it
and louder
there is no escape.
the dark creeps in, infiltrating everything, its teeth bared,
gleaming dark obsidian
and charcoal until it consumes everything
until all you can do is
cut

My heart goes to the people out their,
                                                            who write their pain on their skin.
This goes out to the addicts,
                                                 The people who starve to be pretty.
This goes out to the victims,
                                                 Who need to hear that it isn't their fault it never was and never will be.

I write my pain on my body,
                                               Reopen the scars of the past,
                              It hurts to think, breath, write, wake up.
                                       Why does it hurt??
           Please god make it stop,
I'm begging you
                            I can grind the glass to my face erase my eyes,
                                        Eat the glass and disappear from the inside,
                                                    But,
­It all feels like home,
                                   Cutting is,
My security blanket,
                                   And their trying to, take it away from me.
                                    Their sending me away.
          Why?
I need to cut myself they can't take it from me.
               I NEED it.

She's trying her best,
With the war raging inside,
And she just wants to find,
A little peace of mind.

Another scar to make her feel something,
How can the pain feel so right?
Another cut to ease the emptiness,
The blood lets out the screams bottled inside.

With every drag of the blade,
With every bit of hurting,
She creates the peace,
For which she had been searching.