That Night Poem by Nisha Janine
That Night
I'm laying here in my bed
With scissors and pins
writing lists of all my wrongs
with every wrong there comes a cut
across my wrist or leg
Watching the blood drip from the cuts
I dab it with a napkin
the lists of wrongs gets longer
My hands become numb
Asking myself why i do this
I feel the cuts turn to to bumps
the stinging pain reminds me of all my wrongs
I drift to sleep hating myself
self-hatred isn't worth the show...learn to love urself, come what may so that only love gets transmitted through you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 2:07:14 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Isn't is too much of self-inflicted torture? The note sounds gloomy and overwhelming when a teenager poet should be more robust and positive. Poetically it is a nice creation but thematically you should come out of pain and suffering.