Font Color=darkvioletlong Sleeves Poem by Jane Meyer

It started as a trick,
To make her see things that weren’t there.
I thought it’d give my life a kick,
A mad kind of entertainment.

But then I got curious,
What if I lifted up my sleeve,
And what she saw was serious?
What would happen then?

What would it be like,
To cause myself that pain?
To be the one to make the strike?
But what if I really hurt myself?

Then again, what’s physical pain,
Compared to all I’ve been through,
It’s the mental wounds that’s wax and wane,
In an unending cycle; never fully healing.

A cut will scar,
It’ll heal eventually,
But psychic stabs go far,
Causing damage, irreparable.

So the pain dealt by my blade,
Was nothing to what I’d felt
It was just a red line I made
Across that prefect pale plain.

I wouldn’t have thought that this,
Would actually cause relief.
And I didn’t think I’d miss,
The feeling that it gives me.

But it does,
I do.
It’s made me so different from who I was;
My knife, the pain, and me.

So now I wear long sleeves.
And what started as a joke,
Has now become reality
And it’s all thanks to my mom.