Peel back the layers of cotton and denim.
Expose my secrets for what they are.
Scars.
Little arrays of pink and white lines.
Organized in neat little rows.
Words of rage in stanzas on my thigh.
Long thin strips of hate painted on my wrist.
Furious scabs cover my leg.
Rigid and hard.
Memories fading into scars.
Regrets of sadness.
Depression.
Failed suicide attempts.
Peel back the layers of cotton and denim.
Expose my secrets for what they are.
Scars.
This is a very sad but true poem. Anyone who has done or has known one who has been a cutter knows the truth behind these words. :( Very sad to know people feel such pain & they view this as their only outlet.
ReplyDeleteYou are a wonderful writer, I hope you continue to keep at it.