I tell myself
Think of him
Another red **** on my arm
He doesn’t want you to do this
Another one
He loves you
Again, this time deeper
He will worry for you
I waver
He will see them
Don’t care. I return to the fluid motion
He will ask you why
The blood drips down my arms
He will want you to stop
I want to stop
He will help you if you let him
I don’t need anyone’s help
Yes you do
I know
So get it
I can’t. I will fix this myself.

I won’t make anyone else deal with my ******* problems

No, you did not just add salt to the wound.
You pried it open.

i picked the scabs off my wounds
and made them bleed anew,
never allowing them to heal so easily.
i watched in amazement as new blood
drips and smears my skin.
i watched abrasions,
particularly the deep ones,
fascinated at how they can hurt.
i loved the pain that comes
with the cut.
i never cried at my gashes.
i still have scars from all the carelessness
of my life,
and i wear them proud,
like a veteran
who survived the war.
i come home to my waiting bed,
my mother’s pillow
my comfort through all the tears,
as i hide the pain in gauze of bravery.
i have been courageous.
i have never chosen my battles,
because i have always believed
that every single one of them is worth the ache.
here i am now, choosing yet again
the ecstasy of pain.
here i am, choosing the beautiful agony
of choosing to love you.

for j.e.
*111614

fires that flicker and dance to your beat
cast moving shadows of stumbling feet
in the dim contrast you've created
many children revel naked

uttering guttural
grunts and sighs

little palms reach
toward the skies