No please not again
I worked so hard
Relapse...
Just for all the progress to be washed away in a second
I worked too hard I can't give up
Relapse...
The scissors are getting closer
I'm trying not to fail
Relapse...
My breathing quickens
It feels like there is only one right answer
Relapse...

I feel the urge to cut as I am sitting here in my room
I'm wonder will this ever end
Seconds feel like minutes
I am forcing myself to not get up and grab scissors
I don't want to ask for help because I am embarrassed
I snap my hair tie
1...
2...
3...
Will this feeling ever End?
I want to give in so bad
Still crying on my floor
Wondering where everything went wrong
I physically force myself to stay on the ground
But the urge is getting to strong
And I want to give in....

my wounds
are ocean-deep.
caution advised.
even seasoned souls,
spotless and sure,
could easily drown.

Red.
It’s not pretty on me.
Not lipstick.
Not Valentines hearts.
Not cute red sweaters or “you’re so strong compliments.”

My red is the kind that stains.
That sticks.
That screams when I try to whisper.
Red is the colour of being left.
Not once.
But over and over and over.

My mum?
Yeah, my bio mum.
She left like I was a book she stopped
reading halfway through.
But she still sends postcards.
Like that makes it better.
Like writing, “Love, Mum” at the end
wipes away the years that she wasn’t there
to love me at all.

Do you know what it feels like
to get a message from a ghost
trying to pretend she’s still real?

I don’t read them anymore.
I just stare at the handwriting and
feel nothing.
Or maybe too much.
I can’t tell the difference anymore.

Red is the rage I swallow
because screaming makes people
uncomfortable.
Because no one wants to hear
about the kid sent to boarding school at 11
like an inconvenience.
Shipped off.
Silenced.
Discarded.

Dad didn’t even fight.
Just handed me over
to a woman who never saw me as hers
and made sure I knew it.

Red is the silence between us now.
And it’s loud.
So loud it drowns out the sound of me breaking.

But the worst red?
The darkest?

Wasn’t just what they did.
It was what they took.
Two men.
People I trusted.
People who smiled at me like I mattered
before they ruined me.

I said no.
I said stop.
But they didn’t hear me—
because they weren’t listening.
They were taking.

And one of them carved a word
into my skin.
A word I won’t repeat.
Because it’s still there.
Because when I shower, I still trace it.
Like it might come off this time.
It never does.

Red is that word.
That memory.
That version of me
that I don’t know how to bring back.
Sometimes I look in the mirror
and all I see is what they left behind.

I’m still here.
Yeah.
Breathing.
Just barely.

But I think about giving it all up.
More than I say out loud.
More than anyone would guess
by the way I smile in hallways
and laugh when I’m dying inside.

Red is the part of me that wants to vanish.
That writes poems
because if I don’t put it on the page,
I might not survive the weight.

Red is major depression.  
C-PTSD.
It’s waking me up and wondering why.
Why me.
Why still.
Why now.

It’s wanting someone to hold me and mean it.
Wanting my mum to show up
in something more than postage stamps and pretend love.
Wanting my dad to say,
“I was wrong. I should’ve kept you close.”
But knowing they won’t.
Knowing they didn’t.

Red is the truth no one wants to hear.
The pain they skip over in movies.
The girl in the back of the class
with scars on her heart and skin
who’s just trying to get through the day
without breaking apart in front of everyone.

Red is me.
All of me.
Hurting.
But still breathing.
Still here.

Not because I'm strong.
Not because I want to be.
But because even though everything in me says give up,
some tiny voice
buried under the rubble
still whispers:
Wait.

Imagine yourself
Alone in your head.
You're hanging, dangling
From a silver thread.

Empty, alone
With the monsters within.
Internally screaming,
You just want to give in.

Now imagine that's you
Every day, every hour.
Forever sinking
Like a wilting flower.

You try to tell your dad
And you try to tell your mom,
But they say you're being silly,
You've just got to move on.

Because teens don't know sorrow
Nor the hardships of life.
They're just kids with imaginations
Just looking for attention, right?

You think that there's none
Who knows how you feel.
You're just so alone,
But the feelings- they're real.

Useless,
Neglected,
Forgotten,
Distressed.

Alone,
Afraid,­
But mostly
Depressed.

And you're friends,
They go on
Like nothing has changed.

"They must not care,"
Your thoughts whisper,
The lies in your brain.

You can't escape it,
Trapped in your own skin.
You're ugly,
You're hated,
But you mask it with a grin.

You hate what you feel,
So instead you feel nothing.
Your insides are numb,
Your confidence crumbling.

You look to other things
To stop the pain.
Like cutting
But it gives you no gain.

And the people around you
Shout abuse your way.
"You're hurting yourself, stop it!"
That's all they ever say.

No matter how you plead
That you're broken inside,
They turn the other way,
They run, they hide.

They say you're just foolish,
It's all in your head.
What they don't know is inside
You're already dead.

been wearing the truth
up my sleeve
for ten whole years,
yet people who've known me
for half that time
stumble
when it gets revealed.

inside and out,
time has sealed
those battles fought in vain.
we're like family now—
truth and I.
but when they flinch
at the unconcealed,
I still don’t know
what to say.

my bones miss structure
even if it’s borrowed
a timetable stitched from deadlines
just enough to tie me to something
outside my own spiraling

now, all i have is time
feral and barefoot
spilling into corners
where potential goes to wilt
too much of my life for nobody to hold

no duties to tether me
no rush, no reason
just the sound of myself growing louder

my hands itch for anything but survival

let me bleed for burden and responsibility
instead of rotting in my own brain
let me fall apart for someone else

still, i need to stay alive
to wrap the babies in my warmth
to meet the mothers
between screams and surrender
so they’ll finally feel safe with me

for now, i stare at the scars on my wrist
and think of all the pain i’ll carry differently
when it’s not just my own
but from holding too much of another life
and never letting it slip away

the lives i hope to live long enough to see

so when they breathe for the first time
i’ll know how to do it too

Its deeper than the rest
The solely solemn valley
The canyon of my blood
Full of love and tally
I feel it on my body
Like a needle protruding outwards
Sticking out from all the pain
I hope it will scar over
For then I can have a trophy
For the time where I was but
A ******* four leafed clover

Phantom drops of blood
Rolling down my leg
I feel it getting closer
To my knees and ankle true
What ever will I do
When the phantom reaches ground
And spreads it all around
That I am not unwell
But too far now to tell
It's not the pain I long for
But that phantom drop of blood
To make my legs sore
You do not sneak a peak
Without feeling that drop
Rolling down your body
Never will it ever stop
For the scars do not disintegrate
Only the blood

I’ll flush the blood
Down the drain
So the only known
Will be in my brain
It doesn’t hurt
To run my fingers
Down the lines
Of red like wines
I love the pain
But I know that
The know of it
Will make me splat