Wrist Slits

I was twelve when I first started doing it,

You could blame it on puberty or a teenagers strong hormones,


But as I feel each slit,

I can remember the knife I used,

The room I was in,

I look at the patterns remembering each of my reasons,


You could call me mental,

I don't disagree,

But I haven't lost hope,


You could call me emotional,

I don't disagree,

I vent to myself constantly,

Regretting the reminders I have given to myself of my tragic past,


I constantly shake,

My nerves getting the best of me,

Passive aggression taking control of me,

You could call me a hopeless believer,

I strongly pray that you are wrong.

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world



It's really good I love it. <3  


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