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munachi Jun 2018
I can never cut.
But sometimes I swear,
It feels like wounds are being carved into my heart,
And I wonder if carving these wounds unto my skin
Can relieve it.
This kind of pain you can’t reach;
No matter how far into yourself you stretch,
If I could grab my heart and squeeze it till it is numb;
Like I would if the knife slips;
Till all the red in my finger fades away;
Till all the pain in my heart fades away.

I can never cut.
Except with the words I stick myself with everyday.
You taught me how to self-harm, I took the blade from you,
And convinced myself that it hurts less if I’m the first one to say it;
That if I kept cutting at my heart,
If I kept giving myself scars,
Then the ones you gave me didn’t matter.
And I never let them heal;
The wounds,
They never heal.

I can never cut.
Because for the life of me I cannot get accustomed to pain.
I cannot get accustomed to you hurting me over and over again.
I cannot get accustomed to bleeding inside.
My wounds are too afraid to be seen.
My wounds refuse to etch themselves unto my skin;
To be so bold.
I cannot wear myself inside out;
My pain inside out.
But I swear,
When these wounds are being carved into my heart,
I consider if carving them unto my skin,
Will ever relieve the pain.
please don't cut.
Poetress2 Dec 2018
Later and later, he'd come home to her,
said, "Business was booming, down where he worked;
Paperwork and deadlines, just couldn't wait,
so go on to bed, 'cause once more I'll be late."
~
She never questioned he was telling the truth,
so she slept all alone, in a bed made for two;
Day after day, and night after night,
she'd play the role of a good, little Wife.
~
Her patience ran out, her trust all but died,
as she wondered how many times he had lied;
So one night she followed him, after he left,
and if he had lied, she'd have her revenge.
~
At a two-story home, he pulled in the drive,
where a woman was waiting, arms opened wide;
She watched as they kissed, she watched the whole thing,
then something within her, snapped like a string.
~
No more would she play, the fool he had made,
and within her emerged, an Ocean of rage;
She reached in her glove box, and pulled out a gun,
tonight she was going to have some fun.
~
Up to the door, she strolled with a grin,
he never would lie to her, ever again;
Then she entered the home, through the solid, oak door,
where she found them both naked, embraced on the floor.
~
She pointed her pistol, not a word did she say,
and into their bodies, the bullets did spray;
Then she climbed into her bed made for one,
and under her pillow, she slipped the small gun.
~,
She'd never slept better, then she did on that night,
when at last from her back, she pulled out the knife;
She learned quite a lesson, about who she was,
if you ever betray her, she'll reach for her gun.
Albuna Dec 2018
People,
be nice with your words...

Because sometimes people don't realize,
that their words can hurt you more than a knife...

All you people can't you see?
Your words, they broke me...
Words can sometimes hurt more than a knife,
they can destroy your entire life...
8M Dec 2018
Of the disposed
I give a rose
To all I see
Remind me of my beauty

But now, I know
How much you loved me so
The happiness I feel
Is sympathetic, synthetic

Golden threads
I spin every day
Why do you look for me
Can't you see

I'm not pure and fair
My eyes are dull and I am scared
Why do you love me so
When sadism is all I know?

Come, and know why
I feel this way
A sharp knife lands on your arm
Don't be shy and stay

Please don't run away
Do you know why you want me?
Open up your eyes and see
This elation I feel
French readers might understand the title better.
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