Posted: May 28, 2010 in My Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

My anger and pain
transform me into someone else.
A person I don’t know
but should.

When I am That Person,
I tattoo my flesh in reverse;
bleeding out color
instead of stabbing it in.

white scars embroider my skin,
already alabaster
like the plaster statue
I feel that I am.

Just as cold.
Just as hard.
Just as lifeless.

  1. Meg says:

    My scars are also white. They glisten in the light, when I turn my arms and legs back and forth. They pattern my skin–crisscross, diagonals, parallels. I have become so used to looking down and seeing them that I can’t imagine my skin without them. They have become integrated with me. Yes, they are almost like alabaster. They don’t revolt me anymore. They are simply part of me. I wish I didn’t have them because I don’t want people to be able to look at them and see such an intimate detail of my life. Otherwise, I don’t care. If I were able to, I’d get rid of my scars for privacy’s sake, but I would keep some. Just to remind myself of where I’ve been. And where I’m going. A place where there are merely scars: no fresh wounds. I once thought that place was unattainable. Now I know it’s not. I have learned I can stop. Sometimes, I do fall down, but I consider that I have stopped. The overwhelming longing has left me, for the most part: it comes in terms of years. It is possible to walk away from self-injury. That must sound incredible at this point. It once did to me. I didn’t think I had it in me. Just the idea of trying to stop exhausted me. I felt like the depression had gotten all through my body, like it was this great, vital green vine, dangerously beautiful, that had somehow crept through all the veins of my body, that was growing all through me, and ripping it out of my tissue seemed like it would kill me. But it is possible. Everything and anything is possible. Sometimes, I still struggle with the identity of “self-injurer.” But I am trying to replace it with “writer.” You are a writer, too. You write about self-injury, but you are first and foremost a writer.

    • Thanks Meg. You are such an inspiration to me in so many ways! I admire you for your strength and your ability to stay afloat and still try to help other people when you are having a hard time yourself.

      I think it’s awesome that you have stopped cutting. I haven’t for a few months now. That’s a long time for me. I like some of my scars, but like you, wish they weren’t visible to everyone.

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