I remember,
Going back to class,
After taking the knife to my skin.
By knife, I mean the stolen box cutter,
From engineering class.
Meant to be used for cardboard.
I remember,
Sitting through class.
Letting that ridiculous long skirt,
Absorb my ****** pain.
Fearing, it would seep through.
And someone would see.
Although it never did.
And no one saw.
I remember,
Hiding in the bathroom.
For three periods in a row.
Clawing at my thighs,
Because the only tool I had,
Was a pen.
So, I wrote cruel things.
Promises, words to end things.
And when I emerged, glazed.
No. One. Noticed.
I remember,
How much I wanted them to see me.
To look me in the eye,
And see my suffering.
But, no one did.
No. One.
My painful memories
