The dry air makes my skin crack.
At these altitudes the pressure pounding down on me.
My nose bleeds.
The blood in the sink brings back a memory;
a painful one
with my blood in the sink.
In the memory the blood was from a blade to my arm.
In those days I was my own attacker.
The memory floods my brain
and all I see is red.
I tear the shirt from my body.
It feels so restrictive.
Then I claw at my jewelry and hair tie too.
Soon I'm sitting on the floor in my underwear,
and I'm trying to clean up the blood.
I fear that the memory is taking over.
The desire to hurt myself is back.
I haven't had to fight myself in so long-
do I remember how?
I know that my attacker doesn't play fair.
She's mean, she'll bring up all my weaknesses.
But that's where I've got her.
SHE is my biggest weakness.
To win all I have to do is ignore her.
If I cut myself I lose, but I am in charge here.
My nose has stopped bleeding.
The blood has all run down the sink.
I put my clothes back on,
put my hair back up,
and my jewelry too.
I win this round.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem