Self Mutilation Poem by grace mariner

Rarely do we make it through unscathed.
Skinned knees of childhood replaced by bruised
hearts...and egos.
When do we stop letting the world torture us
and start torturing ourselves instead?
I have struggled with this question for a lifetime,
but even more so recently.
As my body changes, my thoughts remain constant.
I long for you and cannot have you.
You come to me with increased frequency.
In a song, a vision, a moment and I am carried away
by the intensity of it.
Like watching a death, it is sad and lovely all at once,
and inescapable.
None of us leave unscathed, unaltered.
None of us get out alive.