My Lists On My Wrists!

A poem about self-injury.

Bright red lines of my heart bleeding through

Who could honestly care anyway

Only there when convenient, otherwise faded away

Unable to use words like you



Plain as day yet still you never see

Too busy making me play therapist

In order to see my wordless list

Pushing me, drowning me in this sea

Letting me sink for all eternity



Becoming deaf, letting me sit in self-doubt

But that's okay, I've got my silver pen

With red ink I write my wordless lines again and again

Perhaps if they weren't blind, they'd see it all about

Etched on my arms rather than than words to shout

I don't need you anymore, because I have my wrists!!