by Kristen Rice
It begins below her ribcage,
The knife, again, does twist.
Her thoughts not only hurt herself,
But also hurts her wrists.
Her conscience yells and tells her,
That she will be alright.
But what her conscience doesn’t know,
Is that it’s an internal fight.
So she does it once again,
Because she knows no better.
She starts to bleed and then she cries,
And walks over to grab her sweater.
It’s summer now and it’s hard to hide,
The scars that she must keep.
So she puts on some bracelets to hide the scars,
Unless they are too deep.
When she pushes a little too hard,
She tries to sew them shut.
But that just leaves a bigger scar,
And a stronger urge to cut.
She always closes and locks the door,
And she curls up and weeps.
Don’t always judge the girl because,
Her secrets she must keep.