i trace over the newly made scars, hoping they would hold answers
am i doing this for attention or do i genuinely deserve it?
if i were doing it for attention, i'd wear short sleeves
if i wanted the attention, i'd have done it on my right arm
if i genuinely deserved it, i would've cried
if i genuinely deserved it, i wouldn't have stopped
i don't do it for fun, to pretend that there's something wrong with me
i don't do it to put it on display
i don't do it to suffer the non-ignorable sting
but i don't cry, i don't bleed, i don't do it day after day, so do i really need to get help?
there are people who have it much worse than me, they have a place on that therapy couch
i sit there and i don't talk about what i do to myself
where do i go?
i'm not a perfect mirror that pretends to be foggy
i'm not a vase that had been knocked over and shattered to pieces
i am a phone that had been scrapped on the pavement and dropped multiple times
i am fully in tact but still ugly
i don't know where i should go

-november 15, 2024