Everyday as I get dressed
I look down at my thighs
The razor thin lines wrapping around them
Supposedly battle scars
From fighting a long hard war
Waged against the demons in my head
I should feel proud
I survived
I am surviving
But it doesn't feel that way
For I am ashamed
I am guilty
Afraid of what my hands have made
Scared of what my own two hands have done
Taking weapons against skin
I am afraid of my being
Terrified of all the awful unspeakable things
All the things my mind told my hands to do
Of course
I gathered courage to battle with myself
To stop
To gain control
But what happens if I lose that control
That is a thought that truly terrifies me
YOU ARE READING
Stupid Poetry Book
PuisiA collection of experimental poems. They're cool, I guess. You'll just have to check them out for yourself.
