Make the cut, make it deep make it wide
There's nothing left, nothing to hide
Let all that's in me come outside

**** this life
**** this strife
**** everything that's rife

Give me the gun, I'll plant the bullet
In the head or in the gullet
Triggers stiff, but I'll still pull it

**** this life
**** this strife
**** everything that's rife

Theres no mercy on the edge of the blade
Look at the mess this life has made
All my dreams have been mislaid

**** this life
**** this strife
**** everything that's rife

I'm so lonely, in this hell
The darkness has me under it's spell
Can't you hear the toll of the bell

**** this life
**** this strife
**** everything that's rife

For this darkness I don't need to spread
So I'll just lay here in my bed
Watching the sheets trun red

Have these feeling and their all wrong
No sleep again all night long

Don't mind the blood splattered on the walls
Or on the floor, from my hand where it falls

It's nothing really just the same old song
My demons just wanted me to sing along

You don't know what it's like
To be violated
To be held against your will
And felt up
And leave bruises
By someone you trusted
By someone you thought cared about you

You don't know what it's like to be used just for your body
By someone you thought cared for more than just nudes
By someone who told you were cute and pretty

You don't know what it's like to tell the person who violated you
What they did to you
And how it made you feel

You don't know what it's like to receive a fake apology
One only to get you to shut up
But as you're telling him your point of view
And as he's pretending to apologize
You could just feel all the "I don't cares" and "will you shut up nows"

You don't know what its like to attempt to leave an uncomfortable situation
Only to be pulled back by the handle on your backpack
Unaware of what is going on
You thought you were leaving

You don't know what it's like to be held up against the body
Of a strong, tall male
Unable to push him away
Unable to squirm out of the situation

You don't know what it's like to be barely able to breathe
Because your face is pressed right up against his side

But of course you knew he was strong
He played hockey and baseball
But you didn't know he was that strong

You don't know what it's like to be violated by someone you thought you could trust, or thought they could protect you.

Let's not mention how you don't know what it's like
To be sitting in class, sharing your homework with another boy
Only to feel his hand on your leg

You don't know what it's like to sit in a room full of students
And have no one notice what is happening
And you've shot a look that says don't do it
Yet he takes that as a look to continue to go up further
Because he thought it would increase tension
But really he made your self-worth decrease

You don't know what it's like to have an unwanted hand go up your skirt
And you thought it was okay to wear a skirt that day
Just like you wore one every other day
Because the Kilt was part of your school uniform
But of course that made your visible legs vulnerable
And it's a good thing that someone else call for his attention
Because you wanted anything but his

And you don't know what it's like to make a scene
Or to tell someone
Because you're not sure if you parents will be more upset
About you talking to boys or that your got yourself into those situations

You don't know what it's like to stay silent
Because you don't want to make matters worse

But it's my body, why would someone think they have access to it?

Because you don't know what it's like to be sexually assaulted

I woke up today with the lingering thought that I wanted to **** myself.
It felt old, causing me to wonder if I had felt it in my sleep as well. It took me a short while to realize that I had no interest in doing this myself. I simply did not wish to exist.

The idea was not new to me, nor was it worrisome. I had felt like this for a long while. Rare though, were the days that it descended so immediately, giving me little time to breathe before blanketing me.
It felt unusually heavy. And yet it felt unusually light. Perhaps not light. Maybe... Thin. Wispy. Immaterial. I could not figure out the source of this deep dissatisfaction with life. It didnt seem to be academic issues. It didnt seem to be social issues. It didnt seem to be home issues. Perhaps it was all of them at once. Perhaps I was tired of working my *** off, tired of feeling so forcefully, tired of answering ridiculous questions. Perhaps I was just plain tired. I was a busy person, after all.
But I had slept well. And I had had 9 days off of school. There wasn't much to warrant feeling this way. But I felt it a lot. I was god awful tired of feeling it. And the feeling seemed to magnify itself. Wanting to die only made me want to die even more.
It was frustrating. Knowing that I couldn't help but feel this way. Knowing that most of my friends didn't handle their problems this way. It was hard. I wanted to be more positive. I wanted to be like everyone else.

But then I wouldn't feel this way. And if I didn't feel this way, I wouldn't talk about it, and if you feel this way, its important to talk about it. Because mental health is stigmatized today.
It's okay to feel like you can't get out, it's okay for your legs to struggle to walk, if you can't stop repeating repeating repeating words, can't control the compulsion to skip the step before the landing. I tell myself this. Its important to tell yourself that your "problems" are normal too. And of course maybe you don't skip the step before the landing, because you aren't, you aren't, you aren't me, but your hands might shake and you might jump at the sound of cabinets slamming, and you might not agree with the voices you hear.
And you might wish that you were dead.
But instead of keeping it a secret, talk about it.
Let someone know.
Let people know that mental health is not a curious oddity, or something that ought to be shunned.
It is something that should be treated just like any physical ailment.
Don't keep it a secret.

Talk about it.

Talk about it.

Talk about it.

some days I look at my wrists and see the almost invisible scars that hardly show but are still there.
it's funny how something that is only triggered within a moment will stick with you for the rest of your life.
it's like a mark telling you, look what you've overcome.
but at the same time
it almost looks inviting.
hey! one more scratch won't hurt..
right?

but what is it that makes me hurt so much that I need to see and feel the pain in some other place than in my head and my heart?

why am I still broken?
is it him? is it them? is it the rumors and the reputation? is it the broken love and the broken heart? is it the longing for home?
I'm broken
and I don't know why.

I want to blame it on him but I'm the only one to blame.
it's all on me
me.
me.

I wonder if people can see my scars.
do they notice them when my arms get red and they stand out like white stripes?
what do they think?
I hope that they care
but who am I to think that they care?

does this stigma define me?
what defines me?
should these lines really be considered stigmatic?

right now it's me against the world
and whenever I look at those scars
that's why I feel a trigger

because when it's you against the world, you feel alone, ashamed, misunderstood, sad
sad.
sad.

When the spit leaves his mouth like acid,
Speckles my face with scars and tears,
Insults are last place in my minds marathon.

The self depreciation is a serrated knife,
Plucking at the strings in my chest.
And with each snap, I am closer to collapsing.

I remember the day you came into school with fresh slits on your wrists

You had written your world into your own flesh and skin.

Those lines created the pages by which I used to write down our story.

Those cuts displayed every flaw our relationship ever endured.


And I will always remember the day you kissed me

Telling me, begging me not to worry about you.

Telling me the drawings of blood were "nothing"

Telling me you loved me.


To this day, I am left overflowing with questions.

Did it hurt?

Did it make you feel free?

Did it make you feel alive?

Did it make you feel?

But more than anything, I want to know why you chose me.



And my god, I wish this was some poetic analogy for something beautifully tragic.

I wish this was some secret I was too afraid to utter.

But it's not.

And I wish that I had never seen such a horrific sight

Because those scars were not beautiful to me.

They weren't something to be romanticized

They weren't something to be loved.

Because every inch of your punctured skin was a nightmare for me.

I relive that moment every day of my life.

That image forever trapped within the confines of my skull.


And I will always remember the day you left me.

Again and again we fell together.

I held my pain in so deep it created canyons in the breaks on my heart.

But you.

You wore your pain like a badge of honor

You paraded your scars like they were trophies

But they were more than that.

They were a scare tactic that was suffocating me

A plot to force out every ounce of my love for you

A way to blackmail me into staying with you.




And my god I loved you.

And I could have loved you until the day I died.





But I couldn't see past it.

I Couldn't see past the traumatic illustration set before me

past the illustration that stopped my heart beating in my chest.



And I will never forget the day you walked up to me and showed me a display

Of my initials carved into the skin of your forearm.