maybe someday they’ll fade
not today
not when i keep recarving them
again
again
again.
the ones where i went deeper are darker
predictably.
the ones where i traced lightly are lighter
the ones where i traced lightly are lighter
predictably.
i kept them contained
all of the scars grouped in one area
easy to hide.
all of the scars grouped in one area
easy to hide.
easy to lie about.
but i’m so sick of hiding scars
and i’m so sick of lying
and no i don’t want people to know
but yes i think i’ll tell them.
but yes i think i’ll tell them.
not my parents–
i bet they’d freak.
not any relatives–
they, too, would freak.
they, too, would freak.
not anybody who would tell my parents–
no. my parents would freak freak freak.
but maybe at school.
not because anybody there listens to me
not because anybody there gives a damn
just because it’s there that i lie the most
and because it’s there that i’m most afraid of telling
because i don’t know the people.
idk if they’ll freak.
idk if they’ll give me understanding crap.
idk.
idk.
idk!
i don’t like not knowing things.
and i trace the scars on my arm
and i trace the scars on my arm
wondering
what made me start? i knew this was bad…
i guess i needed it and lied to myself
what made me start? i knew this was bad…
i guess i needed it and lied to myself
pretended i was in control
and then i got addicted.
and now i need to stop.
and now i need to stop.
it’s just that
the red came so easily
the pain came so easily
the red came so easily
the pain came so easily
the skin broke so easily.
the skin, or flesh, was delicate
fragile
fragile
weak
as breakable
as the wings
of
as the wings
of
butterflies.
2 comments
That’s just beautiful.
Nicely written.