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Crescent Moons and Skylines

A poem about coping

By Elizabeth Biz DiedrickPublished 4 years ago 2 min read
"Red Moon" by Care_SMC


the sound of elastic every time I


to keep the natural enemy of my fingertips at bay


we're all addicted to something

so let me start with saying I don't like being hurt

but I like feeling

though I find the majority of my self-loathing comes from the way I can't stop staring at the tears and stains of my canvas from the constant urge to run fingertips over bruises and to press into the blank skin that dares to have none until the little red crescent marks surrounding the long red skylines remind me how beautiful it is to be alive


I call it punishment for that second piece of cake

for that third slice of pizza

and for the entire week spent without an outing of exercise


I call it punishment for chipping another crack in her heart after trying so hard to heal it

for forgetting the one thing my mother needed me to do

for doing nothing


and I snap

and I snap

to keep the fingertips at bay but the truth is

I want it.

excuse and punishment equate themselves in my mind and that only makes me more guilty.

I stopped for her.

I snapped for her.

I resist for you.

but the question always infects my brain

"Why not?"

I'm not hurting anyone and I haven't left marks but

I wouldn't want her to do it

Even if I understand this obsession I can't understand why

I knew she understood because of the way she looked at me when I asked for her fingertips to commit the crime

and maybe that's why she couldn't sometimes

her eyes and your eyes are my only reason why

and I wish that was enough but

I yearn for just one physical tangible

why I can't tattoo my skin in temporary reds

and enjoy the beautiful sting

as long as the dawn fades at the end of the day

but I don't want your tears to wash it away

maybe because fingertips turn into knives and pills and suicide notes

and skin is not a piece of paper to be colored and torn

and I don't want you to think that I hate myself

or that it's your fault

maybe it's because no-one would understand

but maybe,

maybe it's because my body deserves better,

maybe it's because I deserve better.

slam poetry

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