This poem is about a cutter. Most don't use that term though. Instead they choose to use the word "emo" to describe or label the person in question. That word just doesn't seem to capture it though. It's used so commonly now, as a joke or at someone's expense. So, instead I choose to say "cutter" because that is the right term. My poem is about the cutter, him or her. What they feel and how they feel about self mutilation.
scars forever marking me
stories hastily scribbled onto my smooth skin, a bare canvas
put up for everyone to see
exhibits of dates and memories
long forgotten, but there reminding me
of that moment
when what was wrong became right
when I needed that quick escape at the end of the night
and I fiddle with the safety pin attached to my shirt
resembling a connection brought on by need or want, whichever works
what a fool who named it
what is so safe about this small, obsolete piece of metal
it slices open my skin, my heart
tearing at my feelings, warping them
is it safety I am seeking?
or perhaps just a rush of self empowerment?
caused by the only pain I can control