Some of them are bold and bright
They refuse to back down and

Just Heal
Some of them are thin and light
They are just as ashamed of themselves

As I am of them

Sometimes people see my wrists
And before I can stop them, they ask

The Question
Sometimes I tell the truth

'In my own way
And
Sometimes I'll swear to the death that
'If you ever trip near a grating,

Guard Your Arms!'

Sometimes they fall for it

Sometimes they don't

Some days, I feel good
And I forget all about them
I see myself with smooth skin

Clear skin
I imagine myself as a model
I know this will never happen

Some days, I feel bad
And my collection grows
My skin resists

At first
But it gives in to my pleas
And the ragged edges shine with red

Some people like to make jokes
Like I'm some rare species of human
'cutter'
Like they don't have their own may of coping

Sometimes they do it to make fun

Sometimes they do it to hide their own pain

Sometimes I pretend it doesn't hurt

Sometimes I'm too dead to care


Sometimes I avoid the subject
Because I'm too hurt to speak
Sometimes I choose to rhyme
Because for serious, it's not the time

But right now,
It's no more than a fact
Yes, I have scars
I'll show you mine




'if you show me yours