forgive me.
I have no other plea but this.
forgive me
for living lies
lies that say I do not belong to you,
that your blood was not enough,
that the only person I hurt was myself.
there is pain
everywhere
seeping from my eyes,
my shoulder,
and his texts.
I am responsible for this pain
but instead of biting in bitterness
at that responsibility,
I should have let it break me
and bring me back
to grace.
but I chose another road—
the trail I blazed myself
the one I’ve walked for years
the one I know so well.
this time
I brought him to the path
and let him walk beside me.
I wanted him there.
he was safe.
so very different
from the stranger in my nightmare.
but I wasn’t broken yet.
instead I was sharp
as sharp as the silver edge I clung to
and it hurt him
to walk on my path.
he chose to stay,
but sent me back into the forest
until I learned to crave this plea:
forgive me.
there are two different streams of blood
and I chose
the one that stains my hands
and not the one that cleanses my heart.
break me
so I can heal
and forgive me.
this is all I ask.
to the one who walked beside me
and who I hurt,
forgive me.
and to the one who walked beside me
and who chose to stay,
thank you.

A mother
Two sons
A reckless drive

Deadly injuries
Tried staying alive
Faces of tears
As he disappears

Leaving them broken
Along with hopeless
Everyday the notice
That their son was motionless

why does no one talk about how scary recovery is
Like being mentally ill is not fun
But I also am terrified to get better because I don’t know
Who I am without depression
I don’t know who I am without self harm
My personality is mentally ill

This is all I've ever know
Self harm is my favorite blanket
Depression is comfort food
And anxiety is the love of my life

And I don’t understand how there are people
Who can get out of bed every morning
How people can be social and not feel
Like a volcano is being forced down their throat  
How people can just raise their hand in class
It just sounds fake and impossible to me

So idk know if I really want to get better  
Because I don't know who I am without this

scars,
everywhere.
from my wrists to my thighs to my ankles.
if i close my eyes long enough i can remember what it felt like again.
i just wanted to be in control of something,
i just wanted to make sure that the pain i was feeling was real.
but now they're there forever.
shorts looks weird,
short sleeved shirts are weird.
my parents looked at me differently the day they found out,
begged me to show them the things i did to myself.
i just wanted them to hold me.
my dad didn't talk to me for months,
i don't know why.
was he scared? did he just not know what to do or say?
diverted eyes and clothing that covered all skin for years and years.
scars,
everywhere
that remind to this day of the years i spent trying to simply just Feel anything else but numbness.
i just wanted to be held.

i look at myself in that long, ***** mirror --
the lighting is bad and i look ghost-like
in the shadows of the room

i lift up my oversized t-shirt
and my eyes fall to the blunt cuts
that grace my soft skin

i try not to do this too often
but lately it has become much too hard
to ignore for long

the blade that rests in my sweaty palm
feels like a million pounds
as i bring it to my stomach

Why do we care
so fully

to an acute point
of exhaustion

to the
     extent
we suffocate

in the
     moment
we're told to

speak