Day by day cuts built up on my arms
People would stare at me, I was known as the girl who selfharmed
'The Emo' they would call me
As I walked down the corridor
They mimicked my actions
Which led me to slash away more
I turned to my name
Which resulted in more taunts
What is wrong with me
I shrieked to my bedroom door
I hid myself away
Wanting to go home
I couldn't help my feelings
Of being scared and alone
Gripping the razor in the palm of my hand
Letting myself drift away to a far distant land
I tore away my skin, in hurried pain
Staring in the mirror drenched in blood and stains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fine poem about a serious subject, whatver problems you may have you write very well, so a emo wins in the end, the receptive and clever one.....