Oh, dear girl How beautiful you are How kind and colorful I see your pain I see the gashes underneath your clothes The angry lines on your precious flesh You burn your pain Away into smoke Crimson eyes Not just from the tears But from the blunt between your fingers How I wish To take your hurt So you don’t grow up with faint white crosses On your pretty limbs You deserve to have your lovely smile Displayed for all to see
Here I am sitting on my bedroom floor with a razor in my hand wondering if 155 days sober is enough to deter me from cutting again.
I have been so proud of myself for all of those days, even when I was at one week and I didn’t think it was enough, and even when I wanted to hurt myself so bad that I thought I might throw up.
I don’t want those days to have been for nothing, but I can’t help but think of that time last summer when I was in a constant state of anxiety for 7 days straight during which I tried every trick to calm myself down, and nothing worked, so I resorted to self harm.
Now my stress and anxiety have been building up for about a month, and I am so exhausted that I actually did throw up, and I can’t get up in the morning because I am so paralyzed by all my thoughts, and I start thinking to myself “What could be so bad about one little cut?”
Rubber bands wrap my body The tan pseudo-office-supplies Run in lines akin to guitar strings. They’re both slippery and stiff, And they pull in their surroundings Holding them close like rubber bands do. They are the reason I’m still whole. Constricting around my body and mind, Keeping everything together. But when they begin to fail at that job And thus threatening I fall to pieces, I simply add some more, To reinforce the wrapping’s reliability.
My biggest self harm scars are thick and raised and they remind me of rubber bands.