Do These Poems Make Me A #relatableteen?

Is This Straight Forward Enough?

Whenever I'm at the beach,
I find myself carving things into the sand,

Like hearts or stars,

Any shape you don't need artistic talent to draw,
Is what I'll carve.

I typically draw lines,

They're easier and much more straight forward.

So I took my habit of drawing lines in the sand and applied it to my arms,

And everytime the tears would mix into the tears i'd ripped,

It'd be like the waves that would wash over the sand.

Except this time the markings that I made were not the wash away type of kind.

They were the long sleeves for about a month type of kind.

And they werent the types of drawings I would be proud to show my mother.

And they were not beautiful.

They were ugly and cruel and foreign.

But it seems out if habit I enjoyed the process of putting them there.

And everytime I would breath in and out.

Like the wind on a cold day whispering to myself not to.

But everytime I failed.

My arms used to be flecked with scars.
And now all of them are gone.

With only their shadows to remind me they were ever there.

And isnt it Terrible that I kinda miss them?

That they were my story.

My struggle.

And without them did anything really happen?

Did I really suffer hard enough?

And then I remember a scar isnt the thing that makes your pain valid.

It can be a symptom of it but it was there and now its gone.

It only matters that you put it there in the first place.

And thats not okay,

Its not the same beautiful innocence
as my tendency to carve lines into the sand.

Its the hard cruelty of the waves when they abrubtly washed them away.