Author's note: Please do not read this poem if you find discomfort in reading about self harm and depression. This has somewhat descriptive phrasing, but nothing overly graphic. Please read with caution if you read it anyway. I'm alright, I just needed to vent and used a project to do so even if it was a bit graphic. I got permission to write about this topic. Just giving a fair warning, even though this book has a Mature Rating thing for topics like this.
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I had secrets of thin red lines,
Carved into pale, white skin,
Like a silent cry for help,
That no one could hear.
It became a habit,
That no one could see,
Or even knew about,
For who would think that someone,
Who was as happy and joyful as I,
Could ever be depressed, or in pain.
In my room, I hid,
Late at night, I'd cry,
Alone, helpless, broken,
Finding comfort in thin white lines,
That welled with scarlet blood,
A cry of pain, in the smothering,
Whispering darkness of grief,
And hopelessness.
My friends eventually noticed,
The fact my smile was faked,
And my sleeves were long.
They eventually noticed,
How sad,
Broken,
How small I felt.
They finally understood,
The secret I hid,
For so long.
They finally found out,
How much could be hidden behind a smile,
So bright,
So full of life.
For yes,
I may be smiling,
But inside,
I'm crying.
YOU ARE READING
Pain
PoetryJust me venting by writing poems. Read at own risk. Trigger warnings: Self harm thoughts, Self harm mentions, Broken hearts, Blood, Broken spirits, Pain Depression. Lost hope
