I try to tell myself I'm worth something.
I'll look in the mirror and try repeating everything I've ever loved about myself.
Until I realise I don't have anything to say.
That who I see in the mirror doesn't feel like me. That same face that I've seen reflected back a million times before isn't me.
I don't think this body can hold me.
I don't think this body is mine, but I'm stuck, and I don't know how to get out.
I'll sink my teeth into skin to remind myself that I am here, that this body is mine, but all it ever does is bruise.
Leave marks that remind me that I am flesh and bone and broken parts that don't work.
That I am aching,
And I am so tired of aching.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
PoetryI write to cope with life, so maybe this might help someone else cope too, idk. Trigger warning for suicidal ideation, S/A, and Abuse. There's not many mentions of them directly as this is more about my emotions and moments of reflection, all neatl...
