Self-Destructive

Hundreds of times have I taken a blade to my skin

Pushed down hard

Learning that quick movements make them deeper

But slow inflicts more pain

I remember the first time I cut my own skin

I used my pink box cutter

Given to me in a pink tool-box along with a hammer, nails, and screwdrivers

I wanted one so I could “help daddy work more.”

I knew we were poor

But I didn’t understand it was because daddy refused to help

So I thought maybe I could

I couldn’t

So I starved my body as a distraction

And cut it open as a way to feel again

Starving numbed my pain during the day

Cutting allowed for emotions to escape at night

I am ashamed of the harm I’ve inflicted

On others

And myself

It’s hard to break self-destructive cycles

But if I don’t, I’m afraid,

Nothing will change