I'm not cutting anymore,
I threw my blade onto the floor.
I know that I'm all better now,
Though I'm not sure why or how.
But I do know that my lover loves me
And I know that it would kill him to see
My arms and legs all streaked with red,
My vacant eyes, soul almost dead.
And my younger sister would indeed be hurt
To see the dried blood crusted like dirt
On my body, torn and bruised
By my own hands, so misused.
I don't think it's selfish, what I used to do.
I wasn't trying to die, just get through
A life so full of anguish, abuse, and pain
That sunny days all looked like rain.
But I've realized that I have worth.
I want to live to go to college and give birth,
Instead of bleeding out on the floor
And seeing my loved ones' faces no more.
ESTÁ A LER
Poetry of the Self-Harmers
PoesiaA collection of poetry that all self-harmers can relate to. I just want you to know that it gets better. Don't be afraid to break the silence!
