I love to write poetry, and I hope to capture every moment in one. Sorry if it's a little graphic. This is basically my story, compressed and set in a lavatory instead of my room. It's basically a girl who tries to become beautiful with things such as anorexia and bulimia, but fails and turns to the trusty self-harm she's known for so long. Please don't steal.
Failure
Bowing low, covering her features
Protecting her identity from what she sees,
From the bullies and the preps,
And weeping as she takes every step
Towards her real life, her real mask.
Settled onto the cold floor of the lavatory
And lays down her cheek, conducting the
Freezing atmosphere, chilling every aspect
And every part, bone, nerve in her
Petite yet commodious, crying body.
Looking into the reflective mirror she says,
‘More than anything, I wish to be beautiful’
And she brushes her weapons free of dust,
Stares at her fingers then slowly stroking the
Back of her throat, she wretches.
Heaving and angry, she vents, ‘Why?
Why can’t I do this?’ as she holds the
Razor close to her heart, wrapped in the
Warmth of her hand. She cries and slams
Her hand onto the floor, weak and fragile.
Fierce in both mind and touch, she rips her
Pristine skin and watches the beads of blood
Thread in and out, slip from the wound,
Caressing the blade and washing the stress,
Anger and upset from her body. Relief.
She hears steps, loud and thumping,
Directing towards the lavatory door.
‘Just a second,’ she screams, with seconds to spare,
While she pulls an endless amount of tissue
And wraps up the wound, panic-stricken.
Leaving the comfort, tugging down her sleeve
And holding tight, she walks; head held high,
Eyes shining with nothing but despair,
Pockets bursting with red-covered material
And bandages, ready to start all over again.
Happiness is a form of courage
~ Holbrook Jackson
''Although the scars of yesterday remain, you can go on living as much as your heart believes. You can't be born again, although you can change.''
Filling her commodious mind,
Sunken promises that have been
Tweaked, and calibrated; broken.
Deep into her cavernous heart,
Inscriptions with curly penmanship
Tug and wrench her emotions
As if her dreams were insignificant.
Happiness is a form of courage
~ Holbrook Jackson
''Although the scars of yesterday remain, you can go on living as much as your heart believes. You can't be born again, although you can change.''
