Poetry of the Soul

Me

As I sit on the cold, hard tiled floor of my bathroom, my hands shake.

I think. 

I make slits across my wrists.

Slowly, savoring the pain.Of course, I know if you want to kill yourself,

you cut from wrist to elbow.

The thing is, I don't want to kill myself. 

I just want to feel the pain and have something to remember.

Honestly, I just wish I had someone that cares.

That grabs my wrist randomly and checks for the cuts that I know will appear there.

That tells me how special and loved I am. 

Honestly, I don't deserve it.

I bitch, I moan, I whine.

Never ending wheel of pain.

But I sit here, while other people in the world are dying, and hurt myself for pain that other people go through everyday.

I hate myself more and more. 

Just for that reason.

Which is actually pretty viable.

Why should I bitch when infants in Africa are dying of starvation?

Why should I moan when children are being sent to brutal deaths and war everyday?

Why should I whine?

About anything, when everyone is doing something but me.

My mom.

My grandma. 

My grandpa.

My aunt.

My whole fucking family.

I bitch, I moan, I whine.

I hate myself. 

For reasons that don't matter.

My hair color.

My looks.

My weight.

My voice.

Everything.

Why?

Why do I bitch about my hair color?

Why? 

Why do I moan and groan about my looks?

Why?

Why do I whine about my weight?

Why?

I am human. 

Yet I don't realize that I am beautiful. 

I can change my hair color.

I can shave it off.

Donate it to people who need it more than me. 

I am beautiful.

My looks?

I can deal with them. 

I am beautiful. 

I need to be grateful.

I can work out. 

I can loose weight. 

I don't need to.

Other people starve and I am eating healthy. 

I should stop complaining.

I am beautiful.

But saying it and meaning it are two different things.

I can tell myself I am beautiful all I want but only with the hope of one day believing it. 

You can't love yourself without being honest.

So here it is.

In my mind...

I am not beautiful.

My hair is too knotty.

My eyes too angled.

My ears too big. 

My lips, not full enough.

My nose, too crooked.

My teeth, shaped wrong.

My chin, too pointy. 

My tummy, not flat enough.

My thighs, too big.

Too, too, too.

The word consumes me.

All these negative thoughts floating around. 

Do they ever go away? 

As I sit on the bathroom floor.

I slice lines across my arms.

Not up and down. 

Side to side.

Not to die. 

To savor the pain.

I need to remind myself.

To remind myself I'm not worth it. 

~ Jessica

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Hey this is Jess. If you want to hear the audio after reading this poem, it is above at the top. Thank you.

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