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Lines
Sometimes I slide the silver over my thigh
And then I feel alright.
Lines of red dotting out and spilling down.
And I feel alright.
But it’s just a moment or two where
The sadness or the numbness slips away.
And I feel alright
It takes my mind off of everything hurting me emotionally for a day or two
Because every time a sibling or a friend sits on my lap being playful,
I feel the lines opening again.
And then I don’t feel so great anymore.
But at least the other thoughts are gone,
The ones telling me to just walk or maybe sprint into traffic.
When those thoughts come I don’t feel so okay
So I take the silver blade once again, sliding it across
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 … 18 times
And then I feel alright
Just for a moment.
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Visit https://www.teenink.com/HealthResources if you or a loved one is feeling depressed, overwhelmed, inclined to self-harm, or suicidal.
I wrote this poem about a time in my life when I used self-harm as my coping mechanism, the numbers "1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ... 18 times" was written that way because that's how many permanent lines I've counted on my legs each time I remembered that they were there. I don't cope this way anymore, I've found better ways but seeing the scars sometimes open my head to the memories and feelings of it.