Cant you see me.
Why do you look straight through me.
My pain I wear like a patchwork blanket.
The stitches hard to see.
Maybe thats what is with my pain.
Mabey thats why you cant see.
Becuase I learned to hide it so well.
So I dont blame you.
For my pain I dont see.
But I feel it.
Its bursting at the seems
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You know Amy, that whether we cut ourselves because of our inner pain, or we write about it, makes no difference. Others around us are always going to remain blind to our suffereing. When Dr. Treffert told my mother that I was not mentally ill, and did not belong in a mental institution, she didn't care, and refused to take me home for 5½ years. She wouldn't let me come home until she knew I had no where else to go. It is the same for you too, girlfriend. Even tho you may hide the cuts well, those that are around you know that you are doing it, but they haven't a clue as to why, because they wish to remain blind as to the real reason(s) that you are doing this. Even tho I do not believe in cutting myself, I do think about doing other things, and before I can carry them out, I write a poem about those feelings and share them. This way there are others who know about my pain, and maybe they can offer some kind advice, or they can sympathize and empathize. But whatever Amy, I have enough self control no to cut. I hope that over time, you will have that same restraint. Hugs & kisses oxoxoxoxox Barbara 'If I have to be this girl in me, Then I have the right to be.'