Once more, with feeling… Poetry Tuesday!
This poem isn’t good. However, it evokes strong feelings within me as I wrote it when I was actively cutting myself during my later teenage years. Having suffered through depression for most of my life, beginning at puberty, I thought the act of taking blade to skin until I saw blood was the only way I could deal with the pain I was feeling. It didn’t help that I was under the influence of a person whom I believed to be my best friend at the time, who was also a cutter (but for the sake of shocking people) and encouraged me in the “art” of cutting properly. Though her betrayal hurt when she sneaked out of my life like a fugitive on the run, shortly thereafter I soon stopped self-harming myself.
7 X 13
Greasy black broken bits of glass,
Mirrored glass, translucent in its fragmentation;
Colorless, paper-thin skin, marred
In its perfection by rivers, streams,
Oily redness flowing, seeping into crags
And canyons of skin.
Seven years bad luck!
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