Dermatillomania
A Poem on Skin Picking / Date: Oct.20.2020
These once so sacred arms became animated landmines.
Years of Self Practice of the art.
Scabbed over and picked off,
till every inch of skin becomes smooth.
a whole body tattooed in old scars.
nails embedded with blood.
a tick, an itch, picked apart, never to be satisfied.
an uncontrollable monster hidden beneath.
a bite of the lips, tear at the cheek, the taste of copper between the teeth.
an urge for perfection, a craving so neat.
Soreness from head to feet, No bump left behind.
Comfort to a racing mind.
Production with little time.
A motivational rhythm, nicked to soothe.
Habits laced in Boredom.
A Repetition of broken thoughts, Cursed by a self-absorbed crime.
Just to look into the mirror, Eyes staring back in confusion.
Hating what you see.
Reminded from those around, That you are a freak.
Only to wash, rinse and repeat.
________________________________________________
This was a personal poem on my skin picking disorder. I was finally able to tell in words what the experience is like.
***Please check out my Website below, I'm currently in the midst of writing a poetry book and any bit of support truly helps! ****
You can also buy my original art & crafts from my shop, buying helps support me as a small business owner
Website: https://ko-fi.com/ghoulishtalestudios
Ig: @GhoulishtaleStudios
Facebook: @GhoulishtaleStudios
Twitter: @GhoulishtaleStudios
About the Creator
GhoulishtaleStudios
Writing has always been my passion in life. Currently, I'm trying to get my poetry off the ground and hopefully can become an self published author! Any Support will help me tons: ko-fi.com/ghoulishtalestudios Thank you for reading!
Keep reading
More stories from GhoulishtaleStudios and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Woman and Her Despair
There once was a woman who brood in her very darkness. The swirling clouds of her deepest despair. Melancholy was her truest friend. Ravens flocked around her lonely stature, where she perched on her lover's headstone to think and ponder. The sky above her was gloaming red. Lonely leaves flew past her in a breeze. There she sat at his headstone in a trance when her anxious ticks arose at last. Looking back on her exquisite memories of when she had a twinkle of hope. Though it wasn't as fond as you may think, for when she was in her younger days, she had an incident. An incident that changed her very core. Never again will she seem so innocent, When insomnia came knocking at her front door. She had always begged for him to stay away, yet he came bursting through some more. Never to be innocent when he defiled her very soul.
By GhoulishtaleStudios2 years ago in Poets
Stuck in Place
Amy whistled as she walked through her front yard, looking for any sticks she could pick up and throw into the pile she and her brother were making. They had a big windstorm recently; as such, all the trees in their yard had suffered some damage in some loss of sticks. Or perhaps losing those sticks was a good thing since their trees probably needed to be pruned anyway. Amy wasn't sure.
By Rebecca Patton6 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.