TW: self harm.
Day one of my journal,
Of a book with pristine clean white flimsy pages
For a girl that hasn't showered in four days
And wipes away the red scribbles that she scrawled avidly down the spidery tear stains of soft sensitive arms
The pen falling out of her hands
What's the point? There is none;
She picks it back up again
Toss hard at door
Slam, punch, fall, cry
Sob
Scream
Slice
Shhhhh
Stay
Still.
These words are not for pages
To be read in the discomfort of an awkwardly quiet room with unfamiliar faces nodding amateurishly, the occasional click of a keyboard or scratch of a pen
But for deep engravings to be kept safe under my covers
Written down, kept close to me, where they can't be misplaced, disappear, be taken or stolen
These are my words, for me, on me, my journal.
Context: this is written about how I feel my scars are a part of me and now tell the story of my life. Each cut represents something.
YOU ARE READING
All's Fair In Love And Lesbian Poetry
PoetryA poetry book written by myself about my own experiences and feelings and emotions.
