A paper cut, a minor fray,
A reason to bleed, to hurt, to sway,
From the pain of everyday life,
A desperate attempt to take control, to thrive.
A broken glass, a spilled cup of tea,
A justification to cut, to set me free,
From the anguish that I couldn't define,
A misguided attempt to soothe my mind.
But with each cut, a scar would remain,
A constant reminder of the pain,
A symbol of the struggles I couldn't face,
A cry for help, a desperate, silent pace.
One day, I hit rock bottom, it's true,
I realized that I didn't have to hurt anew,
I sought help, I found a guiding light,
Therapists, a friend, a beacon in the night.
With time, with patience, with love and care,
I learned to cope, to heal, to repair,
The wounds that I had inflicted on my skin,
The scars that would remain, a reminder to begin.
I learned to breathe, to meditate, to calm,
To find solace in the present, to let go of the balm,
I discovered that I was stronger than I thought,
That I could face my fears, my doubts, my faults.
The minor inconveniences still came and went,
But I no longer let them dictate my intent,
I chose to rise above, to find a way,
To heal, to grow, to seize a brand new day.
My scars will always be a part of me,
A reminder of the journey I've been through, you see,
But they no longer define me, no longer control,
I am free, I am healed, I am whole.
It does get better.
