I Am Getting Better At Smiling When

My Face Becomes A Picasso Sketch, My Body Slicing Into Pieces.

I Am Angry That I Starved My Brain And That I Sat Shivering In My Bed At Night Instead Of Dancing Or Reading Poetry Or Eating Ice Cream Or Kissing A Boy.

They Tied Me Back Together, But They Didn't Use Double Knots. My Insides Are Draining Out Of The Fault Lines In My Skin, I Can Feel It, But Every Time I Check The Bandages, They're Dry.

There's No Point In Asking Why, Even Though Everybody Will. I Know Why. The Harder Question Is "why Not?" I Can't Believe She Ran Out Of Answers Before I Did.

I Wish Adults Would Spend Less Energy Freaking Out About The Cutting Itself And Work Harder To Understand What Drives Kids To Self-harm.