I'm petrified by myself.
By what I almost did.
What drove me to this?
I've always been taught to love myself
but I hate every inch of my body
and am terrified or every millimeter of mind.
And though I put the blade on my shelf,
away from my tingling fingers,
My body decides to hurt myself in other ways.
I stopped myself
just in time.
I snapped out of my gaze
and became a horrified blamer.
Why, would would I do that?
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Was Meant to See
Poetry[Trigger Warning, please be safe when reading] They aren't supposed to know. They aren't meant to read these poems that I'm writing. I've concealed them for a reason. -Shitty poems about how I feel-
