So often I browse poetry tags seeing depressed children writing of self harm.
"Silver metal shines so bright Crimson blood that feels just right"
Right.
This is not what it is.
This is not what it was.
Pretty little lines peppered up and down her wrist
Pretty.
Pretty sad.
Pretty life changing.
This is not beautiful.
Nor will it ever be.
"He kissed the scars on her skin"
Scars.
There for a life time - if you aren't lucky.
There as a part of your past.
There as a part of you.
A person.
Not a paper doll.
Not a picture.
Not a beautiful mess.
Simply
A person.
