i grow my fingernails long
so i can dig them underneath
the scabs my body makes
to protect me from things
just like this.
only to see a little bit of blood
against porcelain skin,
only to feel a tiny sting.
but i'm not making a slice,
so it doesn't count.
it doesn't count.
it doesn't count.
right?
YOU ARE READING
Survive: Collected Poems
Poetry~WATTY'S 2019~ ~NOTICE~ AS OF 2/3/19, THIS COLLECTION HAS TOO MANY PARTS! READ VOLUME 2, THRIVE, OUT TODAY! On the pain, love, and passion that makes me human. Potential swearing, mentions of suicide, self harm, depression, rape, etc.
