Scars

When I was little
I would prick myself
With pins
And needles
Waiting to bleed.

When I was older
I used bobby pins
Soft tips torn off.
I would gouge
And dig
And bleed.

Now I use scissors
When everything is too much
When the world is too close.

I can’t stop myself.
I fight myself
Fight so hard
But,

The scars aren’t neat;
My life isn’t either.
They overlap and cross
And the lines never leave.

I don’t want these scars
I don’t want to be
That girl
But I am.

I don’t do it a lot
Not deep
Not often
But still I do it.
I still have the scars.

Some are fresh
And some are old
But they all last forever.

I want to stop.
I can’t stop.

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