#self-harm poems on Hello Poetry

Payton Summer Oct 2014

Ink.

I pressed a pen to the paper
Like the razor to my wrist
Out spilled the blood red ink
From the tip it bled your name
Just like my skin
I would have never guessed
You would get me in this mess
So from my lips I bled your name
And your chest did the same
Initials carved in flesh
I would have never guessed
We would be in this mess

#suicide #poem #poetry #short #sad #depression #self-harm #ink #blood #writing

Pride Ed Oct 2014

Slice of Life.

Cold sunlight fills my
room today. Coffee
from the night before
stains the corners of
my mouth and I
remember to fold the
laundry. I am not
missed when I touch
the same stained
white linen shirt
for an hour. But
someone said they
thought they heard
me crying from the
upstairs window.
Its lunchtime, and all I
have to eat are
complaints about what
someone else did.
I feel as though I
should pass the sugar,
but that may cause alarm.
I only touch what
I am told. I only touch
what I can control. I
think about eating the
dish soap as I show
you the contents
of my stomach
and see the surprise
on your face.
I think its
evening now.
I lose track of
everything now and then.
So forgive me when I say
I don't remember
your name, and which
room of the house
you stay in.
Quit yelling at me
when I'm face down
in the baby's bath
water.
Please quit assaulting
me with IVs
every time we
take unexpected trips
to the ER.
I hate how cold hospitals
feel. They make my
nose runny.
And that doctor needs
to stop telling me
that I should go
away for awhile.
What does he mean anyway?
I'm watched for
several days after.
I think they like
the way I do
the laundry now.
I cleaned out my
drawer and I
fell in love
again with my
station in life.
Its evening again,
and I can't remember
why I was crying
at all.

#depression #pain #sadness #abuse #drug #self-harm #apathy

Ricordati di me Oct 2014

Red

I told myself I recovered.
I told myself every day for a year.
I told myself to focus on the positives,
every single thing that could possibly spark some joy.
I reminded myself how alive I was every time I felt numb.
"You're stronger, better than it."

It wasn't until I was choking on sobs and finally feeling the rush that I realized what I had done.
I tried everything I could to feel alive again,
And it wasn't until I was covered in red that I did.

I believe pain is important, important to be recognized and felt. I believe it is necessary to share aloud.
This poem goes back to my time of relapse, and I have written many times about it, if not the original times.
I believe it is healthy to reflect, and appropriate to share my writings from these times.

#sadness #self-harm #awareness #respect #recovery #flashback

EP Mason Oct 2014

I cut

Three months ago
I cut
I cut until my veins ran dry
I cut until my skin turned white
I cut until my sheets were black
And all the world fell back

Today, this day
I cut once more
I cut until my legs were sore
I cut until my eyes weren't green
I cut until my soul felt clean
I cut until I collapsed
Never thought I would relapse

#self-harm #tw

Anastasia Webb Oct 2014

untitled

Write your poems about death.
(write ur emo-black-hair
skinny-wrist-white-scar
silent-back-of-classroom
ster-e-o-type po-e-try
about death)

Write your overdone morbid
imagery, similes
(write ur unhappy-heart
out-in-ink-onto-paper
arteries-bleeding-out
ur-blue-and-purple
octopus-veins-ur
ster-e-o-type po-e-try
about death)

#poetry #depression #death #self-harm #emo #stereotype

Zaynub Oct 2014

Where is your anxiety, darling?

“How come you always stay in your room so much?” a little girl once asked me.
“Because I have anxiety, darling”
“Where is your anxiety?”
I pointed to my head. She nodded.
But that wasn’t entirely true.

I should’ve pointed
to my hands,
full of earthquakes and after shakes;
my arm,
blade rakes and skin breaks;
my smile,
nothing short of fake;
my whole body,
just one big ache.

#suicide #sad #depression #depressed #anxiety #nervous #fake #self-harm #painful #unhappy

Chelsey Oct 2014

This Might be Goodbye

I first heard
the word "suicide"
during my 6th grade chorus class.
A couple girls were crying
in the back of the room.
Our teacher asked them
what was wrong,
and with words broken by sobs,
they explained that their friend
wasn't in school today,
and yesterday
that same friend
had said,
"If I'm not in school tomorrow,
it means I killed myself."
Now, these girls were 11.
They didn't know what to do.
Our teacher, who was at least 40,
was barely able to keep her composure
when she sent those girls down to guidance.
We got a lecture after that.
"You're not alone in what you're feeling."
"Talk to someone."
"People care about you."
After the lecture,
we practiced for our spring concert.
I felt weird singing after that,
but it was supposed to make us feel better.
It didn't.

8 years later, I am still trying
to understand the word "suicide."
Because now, I have to resist the urge to tell people,
"If I'm not in class tomorrow,
it means I killed myself," and,
"If I don't come to work this weekend,
it means I killed myself."
I have never uttered those words,
not once in my life,
but I now it makes sense to me
why that girl in my sixth grade class would.
The world is so full of pain
and suffering
and heart ache.
If your arms and legs are decorated with red and white lines,
if the very thought of his smile or her laugh brings you to the ground,
if you have no one to comfort you at 3 am
when your depression is running rampant
and your thoughts are so loud
that you have to cover your ears to quiet them...
that is no way to live.

If I don't write again soon,
it means I killed myself.

#suicide #depression #sadness #self-harm

where the daisies grow Oct 2014

demons

i emptied myself of tears, ran my veins dry of blood, and etched mindless scribbles into my head in an ink so dark that your face disappeared. i reached out to touch you in the black but you were never in reach, separated by borders both invisible and tangible. wanting your lips on mine, i murmured, stay with me, and wondered why you wouldn't.
only after did i notice the horror on your face; the bruises in the shapes of my palms on your chest, the shadow of my fingers lacing a cage over your heart; the words i'd carved into my own skin, an endless taunt begging you to go away, but it wasn't you who i wanted to leave, it was the monster inside of me.

saturday 4th october '14 ~ she said i was the devil reincarnated but you always thought i was an angel

#love #fear #depression #angel #demons #self-harm #devil #loneliness

Shelbie Oct 2014

SHOUTING

Nighttime is scary.
The “monster under the bed” or
the “ghost in the dark”
are childish compared to what
the night really holds.
It holds loneliness,
quietness,
truth.
The truth that
you are not important.
not another soul cares.
Your thoughts are your only “friend”,
and even those are dangerous.
Beckoning.
Calling to me.
SHOUTING at me to give in.
Give in to the urges.
Give in to the hurt.
Open the ivory,
and let the red pour out.
The shine of silver was my only solace,
the “light at the end of the tunnel”.
The SHOUTING is endless.
Deafening.
Screaming to make it stop only makes it louder.
The SHOUTING shakes me.
V
   i
      b
         r
            a
               t
                  i
                     n
                        g
   throughout my body.
M o v i n g me to give in.
Give in.
Give in.
It yells.
It screams.
It is SHOUTING.
Cursing,
yelling,
crying,
screaming.
Nothing works.
“just be quiet. please.”
A whisper.
The SHOUTING stops.
I am all alone again.
The silence is endless.
Deafening.
Screaming for it to come back only makes it more still.
The silence shakes me.
V
   i
      b
         r
            a
               t
                  i
                     n
                        g
   throughout my body.
M o v i n g me to plead.
To plead.
To plead.
It’s hushed.
It’s reticent.
It is silent.
Begging,
praying,
demanding,
urging.
Nothing works.
“come back.”
A whisper.
The SHOUTING doesn’t return.

#depression #self-harm #loneliness