I was thirteen

And the bullying finally became too much.

So I put the scissors to my wrist,

And tore at my skin.

And when I finished,

I told my friend that I was ashamed

And it would never happen again.

All I wanted was for it to stop.

 

I was fourteen

When I felt everything.

Every joke that went slightly too far,

Every harsh comment that cut too deep.

So I punished myself.

I pressed the razor to my skin,

And covered up with bracelets

And half assed lies.

And everyone pretended they didn't know.

All I wanted was to be heard.

 

I was fifteen

And the cuts moved from wrist

To thigh and stomach.

And when they looked too deep,

I didn't even care.

It wouldn't matter if I died

Because no one cared.

All I wanted was to be in control.

 

I was sixteen

When I stopped feeling.

And the cuts weren't enough anymore.

So I used a lighter

And a hairclip,

And burned my arm.

And when people asked what happened,

I blamed it on cooking accidents

And hair straightener falls.

All I wanted was to feel again.

 

I am seventeen

And I can feel again.

The razor is buried

Under garbage and waste.

And the lighter is only used

For cigerettes and candles.

Everything still hurts,

But it is better now.

And I don't have to hide with bracelets.

And all I want is to be happy.