when i was only 16 years old, yes i say “only” because there should never be a right age for this subject. i was only 16 years old the first time a razor blade touched my skin. i never knew what i was capable of. or that there was a place in my mind that was so dark. the first time was indescribable in the most terrible ways. i had no control of myself. the first drop of blood i saw rolling down my skin, was the start of a never ending addiction. ever since that night, my addiction had its bad days and okay days. no good days. because once you self harm, you never stop thinking about it. i started cutting every. single. day. not telling anybody about it. i don’t know why i didn’t. if i was scared to hurt the people i love or because i finally had a secret with myself. don’t think that you will just stick to cutting, because you won’t, months after i gave myself second degree ice and salt burns that left a forever scar. you will think that you will hate the scars but that couldn’t be any more false. they become part of you. if i did not have any scars it would drive me insane. i have gotten to a point where i do not feel like myself if there is no discoloration on my wrists. if your still reading, your probably wondering while i’m writing this. well i’ll tell you. don’t make that first cut. take it from someone who experienced it all. don’t do it. yes there is a release, but there is no release that can compare to doing well, and being clean for over 100 days and celebrating. from what i went through, it hurts my heart immensely for anyone else to go through the same. you. are. loved.

I never, not once,
thought that I would be able
to do something
like that.
But the way his fingers
traced over my skin,
or how he leaned in and whispered
delicately, into my ear.
                          "You're Mine For Tonight"
His fingers traced
along my jawline
every time having a
different feeling
of security,
wilderness,
passion.
Maybe I liked him because
of the fact that he's never
been with a guy.
No other guy has ever
touched his perfect torso,
had their fingers tousled
in his hair.
No other guy has had him
how I have him right now.
He's naked
while being in clothes.
He's true
when he's lying.
My fingers grazed over
where the bullet left a scar
on his perfect chest.
I touched every ab
on his stomach.
Then traced the outline
of every vein on his arm,
his lips were luscious
and plump
and looked as if they tasted of
honey.
We're not supposed to be doing
things like this.
We are in a home for the crazies,
to get people like us off the streets.
We are here to keep people like
our parents,
safe from the true reality of
the world.
To keep people like our parents
unaware of the fact there are
people like us who don't want to live,
who crave the sight of a beaded line
on their arm or leg.
Who crave the drugs that make them
feel happy.
Who crave the life of a normal person
Who doesn't have to be the most popular guy
in school.
We don't exist in our parent's worlds.
We don't have a place there.
So they lock us up here.
Where we have unholy thoughts,
and an addiction to the taste of lead.
                     "Checks"
The nurse pulls me away from my thoughts.
What I wouldn't give for my dreams
to come true.
"Those checks sure can get to be really annoying.
"I know, but that's a requirement when you are deemed crazy."
I say.
There we were,
him sitting on my bed,
me sitting on my chair.
Both fully clothed.
Both unaware of our thoughts
towards each other.
But both aware,
that nothing will ever happen.

we live in a world where money means more than your life,
you have to work hard to support your kids and your wife,
nobody cares that while your child was in labor,
your wife died and your kid came out as her equal,

we live in a word where grades mean more than your life,
you need to get straight A´s in a system where they won´t help you advance,
you suffer from depression, ADHD and some more,
you are not a brat or just bored,
but they don´t care that last night you slit your own wrists with a blade,
come back to school today - you need to improve this grade.

we live in a world where looks mean more than your life,
you have to be attractive to get anything in life,
they don´t care if you are anorexic, bulimic or if you have social anxiety,
all they care about is that your scars can only be portrayed in your personal diary,

we live in a world where were locked in a cage and told what to do,
they tell us who we are, how to act, and what to do,
they do not care about our personal struggles,
they could care less if you were on the very brink of committing suicide,
as long as you don´t disturb their plan its fine,
you will be forgotten, if they struggle with it you will be called selfish, for hitting rock bottom - with your face first.
because they don´t get, they can´t imagine that your struggles was way worse than theirs, a lack of compassion splits us from the rest,
don´t expect no help when you scream in distress.

last night,
I realized something.
I can still remember the first time I came across,
self harm.
suicide.
it was a movie.
'cyber bully'
I was 13 years old.
I remember the song,
playing during the scene
'breath me' Sia.
I remember looking up,
self harm that very night.
getting all these terrible ideas.
I'll admit,
at first I used it for attention.
but, not in the way you may think.
I craved my fathers attention.
so, I cut.
deeper and deeper.
till it became an addiction.
a release.
I felt control for once.
but,
one night my sister walked in on me,
cutting.
that was the moment I decided.
what I'm doing is wrong.
so, I tired and tried.
to over come my addiction.
I wanted to show her that,
it's alright to have rough times.
but, it's all about overcoming them.
being stronger than you may believe you are.
I did it for her.
it took a year and I half.
one step forward two steps back.
but, I did it.
and now, I'm proud.
I'm proud of who I am.
I no longer feel ashamed.
I over came my battle.
and, I've finally came to a conclusion.
that I'd like to share my story.
for all those going threw,
rough times.
to show them, things are possible.
believe in yourself.

a striking slice along the creamy white
freckle galaxy that is my thighs

is this what i've become?

a dab of crimson, slow pour at first
then a scarlet waterfall, perfect picture of my pain.

why did i do this

throbbing pain, dulling my senses
my mind is numb, almost at ease.

it hurts, i knew it would

gently easing cotton over wound,
bittersweet burgundy blood, feeding into pristine purity

what have i done

oh the perverse desire
to tear off my skin
to slice my tender flesh
to carve and chop

oh to feel the cool air against my bones
to be fully exposed
to be grotesque and unlovely

oh to rip my chest open
to be
unrestrained by bodily borders and
finally free

oh sweet freedom!
see me as i am;
vile and dying, in constant pain
a broken slice of hell

amen.

Stare out the window.
He gently squeezes my knee.
Just keep staring.
He changes into 3rd gear.
Pretend not to hear him ask if I'm okay.
He squeezes my thigh instead.
Cant pretend now.
His eyes are gentle, searching.
Small smile, shrug.
He leans in for a kiss.
Turn back away.
His hand slowly lifts away.

This is everyday.
He patiently waits for the mood to change.
This is going to be everyday.
He cant see the fresh cuts under denim.
This is his everyday.
He wonders where he went wrong.
This is not his fault.
His love will run out.
So maybe it wont be everyday.
He will get sick of caring for the sick.

Pained effort in reaching out.
His smile is audible.
Lace fingers between his.
One, two, three, his secret signal.
Theres a lump growing.
He is oblivious to the tears.
Turn back to the window.
His lips warm against white knuckles.
Resist the urge to scream.
He cannot hear the restless soul cry.
Find too much interest in trees zooming by.
I think I must sleep alone tonight.

Hey
This is me
All naked in front of you

My scars are the battles
I lost many
But I won a few

What do you see?
When you look through me
Or to you, is it all blue?

I have craved your presence,
Like the sky needs the moon,
But do you have the slighest clue?

I've waited so you would say,
"I got you", for you could stay –
But none of it could ever be true