In The Dark

Head Held High

In the middle of class, the thoughts ring in my head.

Would everyone’s life be better if I were dead?

I know I’m not the only one with these thoughts. 

I want to do it, but when I try, my stomach is in knots.

I glance at the blade pressing softly on my skin.

It wouldn’t hurt anyone but me if I were to push it a little in. 

I pressed it harder, drawing a little blood.

It hurt, and I knew I wasn’t done.

A rush surged through me whenever I put more pressure.

Feeling every tingle of pain, became a pleasure.

When blood covered the countertop, I looked at my arms.

They’re now scarred and everyone is going to know that I self harmed.

The next day it was over 100 degrees out.

But walking into school, I rolled my sleeves down.

Years went by and no one knew a thing. 

By then, I had learned to hide everything. 

All too often death crossed my mind. 

Each day it happened at least a thousand times.

I eventually got sick of hiding my disease.

After my first attempt, I rolled up my sleeves.

They looked me up and down, pity in their eyes.

Some had disgust that they didn’t even try to hide.

I kept my head held high and stood my ground.

There was no way that I was going to back out now.

I had finally gained my confidence back.

Now I had one thing that they all still lacked.