Multi Genre Poem: self-harm

Can It Really Be?

I always told myself it wouldn't get this bad,

but I was too scared to even tell my dad.

I tried to shove it off my shoulders,

but it kept pushing me colder.

Has it already been five years?

Why can't I stop? WHY?

I hurt myself, but not as much as my own insecurities.

I was lying to my family, friends, and strangers.

I couldn't possibly recognize the dangers.

Even those who knew of my secret I lied to.

They would ask if I have cut lately,

but my answers were all lies.

No, I would reply,

but only I would know that I have, only I.

All I need to do is place a smile on this face.

They will never suspect and they never have.

I make up excuses to hide the truth.

Hide what's underneath those sleeves and jeans,

and hide the emotions that show in between.

I've read online that it gets addicting,

but I never realized it would soon contradict me.

I try to stop for the sake of others,

but that never seems to work.

The thoughts soon start to lurk.

It was too tough of a hassle,

so I let the blade handle it for me.

The cuts were small at first,

but slowly began to burst.

The wounds wouldn't seem to heal,

and the pain was just too real.

The scars commenced to new areas of my body.

They were ferocious memories that would stay on my skin forever.

I asked myself, why even bother?

I am worthless, stupid, and a pester.

How will I ever love this? HOW?

It is a constant reminder, these scars.

They truly are.

That doesn't seem to stop me,

but it's never too late for me to flee.

By: Shona Marie