My Body As My Canvas
Location
Blade to skin, my wicked sin
My vision dims, the rush begins.
Hidden reminders of my pain,
Red teardrops stream down like rain.
Winding lines across my wrist
My flirtation with Deaths kiss.
Scars, that I would share,
But for fear of human stare.
Adults and counselors I don’t trust
To bear the knowledge of my crux,
To know the depths of my sorrow,
My infinite dread of tomorrow,
My inability to comprehend,
All my mistakes I try to mend.
My failure at both death and life,
My innermost and deepest strife.
They don’t deserve to know,
I shouldn’t have to bare my soul
They should be able to look at me,
See how I struggle constantly.
I try so hard and no one cares,
I’d end it all if I only dared.
People tell me they would cry,
That they would go crazy if I died.
How is it then that they can’t see
That so many things are bothering me?
If they can’t see then they are blind
To what is happening to my mind.
My mind is twisting, warping day by day,
Reality seems to slip away.
Anything normal drives me crazy,
Sleeping has taken place of eating,
I write and cut to dull the pain but it always comes again.
I wish for silence and the dark,
To see blood flowing from my arm.
The blood, it proves I’m still alive
I haven’t completely lost my mind.
I cut to bleed, to feel nerves stir in my veins,
To make emotion tangible, I cut again.
People say it doesn’t help,
They stand and judge, I just want out.
I want out of this hell
Out of this cold and darkening well.
I want to scream, I want to cry
Most of the time I want to Die!
If I tell, they try to help, but so many people fail.
Even if they do, it won’t last,
But I’ll pretend, put on my mask,
Until the day I break again
I’ll act happy, hold it in
I’ll have them thinking I’m all right
While I slowly lose my mind.
The only truth is in what I write,
Only paper knows my plight
Only paper understands,
The words that flow under my hand.
Though sometimes the flow will halt,
A river of words suddenly stopped.
Comments
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thisispoetryproject
Your words touch upon a certain area of the heart that many politicians and leaders struggle all their lives to do but once or twice. This poem speaks of the burden that too many people carry on their shoulders until reaching the breaking point or becoming stronger than this burden. I believe in your strength-- after all, writing about these very personal emotions requires much more courage than you may realize. Please, let me assure you that you are not alone in these feelings. There are myriad of others who struggle with depression. I, too, at times catch myself focusing on the negative aspects of my own life.
However, it is important to understand that life truly is what you think of it. Everything is prone to perspective. For example, winning $100 million in the LOTO will force a smile upon nearly everyone's face because they believe this $100 million is going to make their lives so much better. With a quick change of perspective, one's paradigm can instantly dread wining $100 million due to the statistics that show the majority of LOTO winners to end up losing most of their wealth and compile incredible amounts of debt.
That is the power you hold within your own mind. Although changing perspective is a habit that requires constant attention, it is well worth the work! You're already working hard to keep your current views, why not try something different?