Some cuts heal
Some cuts fade
But the scars remain
Cut deep with a sharp blade
Some people stop
Some people try
Every one of us struggle
To say good bye
It’s a habit as well as a curse
Nobody seems to understand
That stopping makes us vulnerable
From stones to soft sand
We feel alone
When surrounded by friends
Looking for someone
Who believes our hearts can mend
We see them, the people
Who behind their raised hands softly mutter
‘Look at those scars
The scars of a teenage cutter.’