My parents ask me questions,
“How was therapy?”
“Are you using your skills?”
“How are you doing?”
My parents want the answers,
“It was good, I learned a lot.”
“Yes I am, my urge to cut is going down.”
“I’m doing great, feeling great.”
But the answers I give are silent,
Fine, please don’t ask about it.
No, I feel like a failure when you know I am.
I’m terrible, I hate myself, I want to die.
My parent’s desire is for me to get better.
While I scream inside because face it,
**I’m not.
