i sat there,
watching my blood
drip onto my hands,
and on the floor,
seeping through
the rug below me

i sat there,
emotionless,
numb,
and said
"it didn't even hurt"

but sadly,
that was a lie

i can still feel
the knife slicing my skin,
but i liked it

There were days
I remembered
To put my heart on my sleeve.

The other days
I hid it
So deep inside my body
I couldn’t find it for myself.

The terror of anyone finding
Me judging me
Seemed to linger in the air
I inhaled.

Thank you for making me feel.

Sometimes I feel like every poem is about me. I feel you - the love, the pain, the longing; so keep on writing.

To feel is to live.