Tag Archives: self abusing

Cutting

pain is too hard to carry. pain in your mind, destroying it. pain in your heart, hurting you. pain you can’t get rid of. pain that will keep piling on. pain holding onto you with claws. pain unwilling to let you go. pain keeping a too tight grip.

pushing the blade into fresh skin. pushing so much red rises up. pushing so much it starts tingling. pushing until the pain becomes numb. push down, cut deeply, move swiftly. pushing to numb everything deep inside. pushing until you’re unable to feel.

finally you’re able to breath again. finally everything becomes a little clearer. finally you have a clean mind. finally breathing isn’t a heavy chore. finally you can show a smile. finally you can be you again.

Scared Skin

I miss wearing tank tops while out in the sun. I miss wearing cute little sun dresses without having to worry. I miss wearing little shorts that go above my knees. I miss being able to wear whatever I wanted without feeling insecure about it. Without having to worry if people are looking at my arm or looking at my thigh. People are talking or whispering about my skin that isn’t smooth anymore.

Are they looking at me and giving me their pity? Are they thinking what could have happened to this poor girl for her to do that? I always wonder what people are thinking when I finally build up the courage of wearing a tank top at work when it’s +20 degrees inside the store. or when I wear a skirt that’s one inch too short.

I can tell by the looks on their faces that they can see them, they can see the deep set scars in my skin. They can see the pain I went through showing on my sleeve, the deep thoughts that was spilled out onto my thigh. The paint of pity is brushed across their face like heavy oil paint on a canvas. They try to give a reassuring smile but it’s not thick enough to ignore the sorrow in their eyes about me, they give a nod to say hello but I can see the shake of their head as they pass me.

When I don’t cover my arms or legs while I’m out in public I feel like I’m walking around naked. They can see my thoughts, read my mind like words on a piece of paper. They’re able to look into my past, see through my eyes in the present and know my future. I want to be able to be happy again and walk around like nothing is wrong with me anymore, I’m fixed, I’m all better. But everyone who looks at the lines on my skin know that I’m not fixed, and I’m not all better.

Friday Night Cutting

She started cutting that Friday night.

She could have asked for help,

She was talking to someone on Facebook,

But she decided not to ask.

She told him she was tired,

She had an energy burning day.

She said goodnight, and signed off.

But she should have stayed online.

She went up to her bedroom.

She changed into her comfy clothes.

She climbed into bed, sat there.

But she wasn’t alone in bed.

She brought an old beautiful friend.

She laid it down on her.

She pushed it into her skin.

But with a singular quick movement,

She was bleeding again, something forgotten.

She hasn’t done this so long.

She wanted to desperately remember again.

But her skin didn’t want to.

She couldn’t stop the red tears.

She couldn’t stop the radiating warmth.

She couldn’t stop the red diamonds.

But it eventually stopped. For now.

Family

What if her family ever knew?

What would they do with her?

What would they say to her?

The deep lines on her thigh

The deep burns in her arm

The bones showing under her clothes

She has to be careful always

She has to always watch herself

She has to think everything through

Getting caught could ruin every thing

Getting found could spoil her world

Getting fix could hurt her soul

Without it she has nothing left

Without it she can’t breath easy

Without it she don’t know anything

With it she can do anything

With it she’s everything she wants

With it she has the world

Broken Glass

Middle​ ​school​ ​girl​ ​with​ ​broken​ ​glass.

Glass​ ​she​ ​found​ ​behind​ ​her​ ​school,

Along​ ​the​ ​ground​ ​mixed​ ​in​ ​rocks.

Unclean,​ ​broken,​ ​shards​ ​of​ ​glass.

Raggedy,​ ​broken,​ ​torn​ ​fresh​ ​skin.

She​ ​didn’t​ ​know​ ​what​ ​she’s​ ​doing.

Willingly​ ​following​ ​a​ ​friend’s​ ​steps​ ​forward,

Forward​ ​into​ ​a​ ​deep​ ​dark​ ​hole.

A​ ​hole​ ​with​ ​scars​ ​and​ ​cuts.

Blade​ ​of​ ​a​ ​new​ ​pencil​ ​sharpener.

Blunt​ ​end​ ​of​ ​a​ ​pocket​ ​knife.

Broken​ ​glass​ ​found​ ​on​ ​the​ ​street.

Deep,​ ​shallow.​ ​Thick,​ ​thin.​ ​Scars,​ ​cut.

She​ ​was​ ​scared​ ​at​ ​first​ ​cut.

But​ ​she​ ​soon​ ​realized​ ​it​ ​helped,

She​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​numb​ ​pain.

She​ ​numbed​ ​the​ ​emotional​ ​daily​ ​pain.

The​ ​lies​ ​her​ ​brain​ ​would​ ​tell.

The​ ​stories​ ​her​ ​thoughts​ ​would​ ​create.

The​ ​whispers​ ​her​ ​ears​ ​would​ ​hear.

The​ ​other’s​ ​thoughts​ ​she’d​ ​listen​ ​to.

She​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​numb​ ​pain.

Easy​ ​to​ ​numb​ ​emotional​ ​pain,​ ​also,

Easy​ ​to​ ​numb​ ​the​ ​mental​ ​pain.

She​ ​numbed​ ​the​ ​mental​ ​daily​ ​pain.

The​ ​thoughts​ ​her​ ​mind​ ​would​ ​explore.

The​ ​images​ ​her​ ​imagination​ ​would​ ​create.

The​ ​dreams​ ​her​ ​sleep​ ​would​ ​show.

The​ ​ideas​ ​her​ ​brain​ ​would​ ​brainstorm.

Her​ ​small​ ​shards​ ​of​ ​broken​ ​glass,

Her​ ​sharp​ ​blade​ ​of​ ​pencil​ ​sharpeners,

Her​ ​dull​ ​blade​ ​of​ ​pocket​ ​knife.

To​ ​quiet​ ​her​ ​brain,​ ​thoughts,​ ​ears,

Her​ ​mind,​ ​imagination,​ ​and​ ​sleep.

She’d​ ​guide​ ​the​ ​blade,​ ​glass,​ ​knife

Across​ ​her​ ​arm​ ​and​ ​push​ ​down.

Looking​ ​for​ ​broken​ ​skin​ ​and​ ​blood.

The​ ​cuts​ ​hurt​ ​her​ ​at​ ​first,

But​ ​then​ ​became​ ​a​ ​tickle​ ​sensation.

Then​ ​became​ ​a​ ​numb​ ​gliding​ ​feeling.

Middle​ ​school​ ​girl​ ​became​ ​broken​ ​glass.

Glass​ ​she​ ​became​ ​behind​ ​her​ ​school,

Along​ ​the​ ​ground​ ​mixed​ ​in​ ​blood.

Unclean,​ ​broken​ ​shards​ ​of​ ​glass.

Raggedy,​ ​broken,​ ​torn​ ​fresh​ ​skin.