And no, it isn’t about creating dramas for attention.
No, I’m not doing for the sake of popularity, for coolness.
No, it isn’t romantic.
Not because I want to die,
But because I want to live.
Not because I want to get hurt,
But because I want to be relieved.
Because I want to feel
I self-harm because the bite of the blade
Into my flesh is the only
Link to reality that I have
Because I am so damaged that I need to see my blood flow
To convince myself that I am still alive
That I’m breathing
That I exist
That I am still human
Warm with flesh and bones and blood
Not the dead rotting corpse I feel inside.
Because I am a destructive force and
I don’t want to leave debris trailing in my wake
I’d rather hurt myself.
Because it’s the only drug I can have
To keep me sane me as I continue to breathe.
To the person who thought that cutting her wrist and showing it off
To gain the sympathy of others is the
Sure fire way to be popular and cool
You never fooled me.
That isn’t the face of depression.
That’s a narcissist hiding behind the mask of self-mutilation.
Do you want to know how it really looks like?
It looks like blades and cutters hidden in the back of the drawers
It looks like clothes stained with blood and tears
It looks like long sleeves in the summer
And pants in the beach
It’s the shame you feel
Every time you think of how weak you are.
It isn’t about your boyfriend kissing your wrists
Telling you how beautiful you are in his eyes
No. You are not beautiful.
Not in the way they say anyway.
Because you are scarred with your lost battles with your demons.
The only way you can be beautiful is when
You survive and look back and glow
With pride as you think of how strong you’ve become.
Don’t get me wrong.
You are still whole, you are still unique, you are still wonderful
And believe me, your wounds will heal and close
But the ugly scars will forever stay
In places only you can see.