WARNING: This poem contains mentions of self harm. I do not mean to offened anyone by this poem, and I apologize if I have.
If any of you,
are thinking about it,
let me tell you:
it's not worth it.
The knife
feels so comfortable
in my hands.
I need something to hold.
To make up for my loss
of not having someone.
The blade so sharp.
This feels so right...
But so wrong.
A tear slides down my cheek.
Another sign of me being weak.
A million questions
circle through my head.
Why can't I be perfect?
Why is it so hard?
Where did I go wrong?
I tighten my shaky hands
on the knife.
I draw blood
and watch it trickle slowly
down my arm.
Where I know scars
would begin to form.
I did it again.
But I cut too deep.
I screamed.
And you heard me.
You took the knife away.
Asked me what I was thinking.
I searched my mind
for any excuse.
Was embarrased
of what you'd think of me.
Of how I was braking.
Or already broken.
But you did
what I least expected
you to do.
You hugged me.
Picked up the shattered pieces.
And that
changed everything.
Now, when I'm sorrow,
I hold you.
Not a knife.
So thank you,
for bringing me back
to life.
If you're
thinking about it.
Put down the knife
and find someone to hold.
Getting help is okay
it never gets old.
YOU ARE READING
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓. ── poetry | ✎
Poetry❝Even when we're gone, we'll be in each other's hearts. From what I know, we were always there... there from the start.❞ New beginnings, sad endings, happy endings, sad beginnings. If you're looking for a journey, begin from the start. © nnightdday...
