Ten

One

If my tear-stained sheets and mascara-smeared pillows could talk

They would speak of my desperation and death each day

Two

I’ve always loved the night

For I find comfort in the dark

But how can I embrace the shadows

If every time I close my eyes I see you?

Three

You are the best thing that ever happened to me

Four

You are the worst thing that ever happened to me because

Five

I love you

I love you like it’s the only thing I can do best

I love you like you’re the air I’m struggling to breathe

I love you like you’re the blood running in my veins but

Six

I was just the bandage to your wounds

When she slashed your heart and left you bleeding

Having eaten nothing but her old messages

Seven

I was there for you

I gave my everything to you

I even let you use my own flesh and blood to reconstruct your broken heart but

Eight

Eight

When the wounds healed, the scars spelled out her name

But you know what hurts the most? It’s when

Nine

You let her open your wounds again

And you come running back to me, begging for another reconstructive surgery

Not realizing that because I gave you my heart to use

It was my heart she killed when you let her run you over again

Ten

I am broken

I am dead

I have nothing more to give

Because nothing to me has been left

And I,

I will be forever marred

By the scars that will always, always

Spell out your name.

I Self-Harm

I self-harm.
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.
I self-harm.
Not because I want to die,
But because I want to live.
I self-harm.
Not because I want to get hurt,
But because I want to be relieved.
I self-harm
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
I self-harm
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.
I self-harm
Because I am a destructive force and
I don’t want to leave debris trailing in my wake
I’d rather hurt myself.
I self-harm
Because it’s the only drug I can have
To keep me sane me as I continue to breathe.
So..
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.