I walk through these halls, I take note of it all.
I notice the tans, the fads and even those designer bags.
I hear the names being called, I notice the lies.
I feel the heavy atmosphere full of rumors and hidden lives.
I sit in the corner, the last desk of the row.
like a black and white picture fading away.
the point, the stare, their laughter fills the air.
no sleeves to hide what I've done, only a painted veil.
I remember that night, the night they all laugh about.
if only they were there, if only they knew, what this game could do to you.
The screams were loud, my door was locked, the bruise was bold.
The steel was cold, my skin was warm, the room was dark, my tears were not shown.
I fell to my knees, I looked to the sky; I at least tried to cry.
the crimson river was like a rush, and then I saw the ocean that flowed.
I cut too deep, but I didn't care; anything to not be here.
I felt like air, I fell to the ground, and then I couldn't hear a sound.
I next woke up in a hospital bed, my mother was crying.
My father beside me. They told me they loved me, they kissed and hugged me.
They showed me they loved me, they actually care.
and they took me away from there, to Pennsylvania.
A few years later, I sit here, writing this poem, remembering that year.
I'm different now. I have many friends, I have a true love, I have my own life.
Sadness is gone, the anger has vanished, and now I no longer cut for satisfaction.
I beat the addiction; I feel so much stronger,
but I keep these scars as a reminder.
What breaks me, makes me.
Poem Beating The Cutting Addiction
I have so many friends that cut, and it hurts to know they do it, but one particularly stands as I can never unsee it. My BFF told me to raise her sleeve up yesterday when I asked, "What's...
Breaks Me
Published by Family Friend Poems September 2011 with permission of the Author.
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I'm 12 and I've been cutting for almost a year. It's really hard to stop, and everyone hates me for it. I have more scars than I do friends. I feel like whenever I cut someone gives up on me. Someone always leaves me because they can't handle my depression anymore. My friends bug me daily to get help, but I don't want help. I don't know what to do anymore. It seems like my only true friend anymore is my razor.