[can be sensitive]
when i was
9, i knew this
woman
who drew all
by herself
alone in the
corner of her
room at night.
the drawings
—peculiar.
there were no
particular shape
pen—blade
canvas—wrist.
one day, she
was found in an empty
basement with this
artwork of hers.
i stared at them
intently until my
head starts to burst.
now, i'm 14
i've finally figured
out why she's
done it.
the feeling
of belonging,
she was missing,
i now felt it.
i wonder why
i get this
calming sense
whenever i see
a blood clot
on my wrist.
i wonder why
i get so
at ease when
i try to
pull one of
my veins.
i am 14.
i draw too.
artworks resulting
from my emotions,
the outside world
—misinterpret.
i have a feeling
that i'm not going
to stop.
i get this sensation
that i don't get
everyday
oph
