Poem About Cutting Wrists
I'm 13, and have been cutting since I was 10. I started because a man almost raped me on my way home from school. My mom found out about a year ago, and she started taking me to therapy, but …
Published: Nov 2007
Just A Small Cut
With every thing spinning so fast I cannot breath.
Walls closing in and everything fades.
Fashes of light come by, one, by one.
Feeling sleepy not knowing your name.
Not knowing mine.
There it is. my favorite thing of all this,
ah the feeling of pain is gone from before and new form enters me.
Laying here waiting for you to come home.
I open my eyes and see flashes of you and me from before you went.
You walk inside.
You call to me and wait for an answer.
You hear small light breaths coming from the bathroom.
thinking it is me, you walk down the hall with a smile.
the kind that makes your knees go week.
You walk in. Oh god, is all you can think.
I'm trying to look up at you but I can't move.
a cold chill comes over me as you pick me up.
You say we are going to the hospital and that everything will be ok.
You rush me in.
Blood running down.
The nurse rushes you to a bed so I can lay down.
I can hear you asking her something.
But I can't make out the words.
I feel something cold and wet touch my face then my arm.
I feel the prick of a sharp object go in my right arm.
The nurse says that I need stitches because the wound is to deep.
I feel the thread go in and out through my arm.
And a band-aid go around and around.
After I have slept for two days they let you in.
I can move again and open my eyes.
You say that I got 76 stitches because the cuts were way to deep.
And that I almost died.
I pull off the band-aid and look.
I see over 20 cuts and begin to cry.
You tell me its ok and we will get some help.
About 5 years later.
We have two to deal with ourselves.
Jake and Emma.
A beautiful baby boy and baby girl.
The scars are still there.
Some times I wish I could go back 5 years and change what I did do so I can make it right.