Author Information
Cuts
Folder:
poems *One Cut.*
*Two Cuts.*
*Three Cuts.*
"More."
*Four Cuts.*
*Five Cuts.*
*Six Cuts.*
"I shouldn't do it anymore."
*Seven Cuts.*
*Eight Cuts.*
*Nine Cuts.*
"No more."
Look what I've done -
My wrist: it's my cutting board.
Why do I do this? Why do I hurt?
Don't worry, I'll cover it all with my shirt.
But if you must know:
it's these emotions inside, the ones I don't show.
The tears I cry,
When I'm all alone.
It's the act you put on, that makes you prone.
The way you make yourself blend in to become another on the shelf:
Untouched and never bothered.
Mentally: I wonder; "Why am I this way?"
My answer: "Because time never took my pain away."
It's my personal pain reliever,
Since everyone's favorite words are: "Oh, just leave her."
With everyone coming and going,
My trust is sure as hell not growing.
It's not a switch,
It's not an option,
Isn't something I can control.
Just a bad habit and happens to be a bad stroll.
I don't look at it as a sin, but my way of letting those scary emotions in.
