Scars Poem by Skylark Woodrow

I don't cut,
I don't bleed,
I don't want the scars it leaves,
But I have done other things.

I have thrown myself into the walls,
Welcoming the bruises that are left behind.
I have worked until I ache in every fiber of my being,
Finding solace in the pain.
I have raked my nails across my skin,
Attempting to feel something other than the misery enveloping me.
I have pretended none of this exists,
And attempted to live a lie,
But pretending can't erase the pain I feel inside.

I could finally give in;
Trace a blade across my skin.
Slash past the blood and bone;
To scar my soul,
And mark my body for all to know.
Riddle myself with memories of my darkest times;
Reminders of all I want to forget forever carved within me.
No.
I don't think so.

I could lash out at others,
And feed off the wounds my words leave behind.
I could flirt with all the guys,
And bask in their attention.
I could party all through the night,
Because that fixes everything; right?
I could take pills,
Do drugs,
Or drink alcohol;
Allowing my mind and body to finally go numb.
Because everyone knows: if you can't feel it, it doesn't exist.

I could do numerous things to try to cope with the pain life brings,
But they're only temporary so why bother,
None of them will fix the problem.
There has to be something else.
But as for now;
I don't cut,
I don't bleed,
I don't want the scars it leaves.

(2014.9.3,2016.6.17)