Scars-A Poem

I am hesitant to post this poem I wrote a few years ago because it is extremely personal, and it reveals a struggle I've had for awhile that hardly anyone knows about...self-injury.  I feel it's important to bring this subject/struggle to light because there are so many others that struggle with this issue as well.  It's not just a teenage "emo" thing the kids do.  It is a serious issue that you do not grow out of, and many adults are struggling in silence because it can be embarrassing to talk about.  Well, here is me showing vulnerability...and my scars.

 

 

Scars

 

I'm embarrassed by the marks on my arm.

They look like a work of art etched on my arm

like one would draw on an etch-a-sketch.

However, the lines don't disappear when I move my arm about.

I can't wipe it clean.

They're like permanent reminders of my pain,

not an artistic itch.

The work of art is more gruesome than beautiful

with each line reminding me of each hurt, fear,

anger, disgust, or apathy I was feeling that day.

Some of the scars will fade,

but if I look hard enough,

I will see them.

It's like looking into the eyes of pain itself

wondering why it must leave its trail on my body.

Each self-inflicted wound digs deeper into the core of me

until I realize the real scars aren't left on my arm,

they are left on my heart.

Each strike to my arm delivers a pulsating blow to my soul.

I must stop this madness before I rip my soul to shreds...

and only have my etch-a-sketch to console me.

 

 

Song of the day: "Pieces" by Red