a desperate attempt to help

just... 
stop. 

we are human, 
flesh and bones and muscle and blood,
we are breakable and frail. 

so terrifyingly easy to bend,
just test the limits of the body,
pushing to the edge
until we are tipped over. 

blades and sharp points 
can be death in a bottle.
the bits inside rattle 
when you shake them. 

self-harm is not right,
yes i still fell susceptible to it,
but i stopped myself,
managing to catch it while
it still warbled as a fledgling. 

but let me tell you something you might not know:
it isn't just cutting. 
it is burning your skin with too-hot showers, 
it is scratching your skin until it bleeds,
it is pulling at your hair until it gives way, 
it is pain, raw and desperate and ugly.

do not think that it is glorious,
it is not something to brag about,
if you are truly under so far, 
you will know that it becomes a sick secret. 

try snapping a rubber band against your hand, 
try slamming your fists into your mattress,
try holding an ice cube until it melts. 

anything but what you used to do, 
just attempt to stop,
i beg of you. 
please.

and i know i sound exactly like what i am:
a shaky recoverer who has beaten depression,
and is trying to convince anyone they can
that hurting yourself does not solve your problems.

and i know you know that. 
but i need to say that, 
because the pain does not help. 

it doesn't even assist you in grounding yourself, 
i will admit i have had trouble with disassociation, 
but i have stopped and i have found other ways. 

i just want to tell you
that you're beautiful. 
you are, and you do not need pain. 

the only thing you need is yourself. 

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed