our crazy daughter

a trail of blood
snaking down
from my swollen fingers
over the back of my hand
smudging scarlet
across my thumb

pale, tender,
delicate flesh
slashed with cruel,
sinister strokes;
more humiliating
than i’d expected them to be.

winter is coming
i know because
my wrists are circled
with raw, red skin
like shackles, they’re a sign
that i’m held captive in my mind

i am so disgusted
with my own two hands
that i pull my jumper sleeves
over my fingers
and if i let my guard down,
i have my excuses prepared

water: such a harmless thing
transparent droplets
sliding across my skin
slowly, secretly
corroding the flesh away
i don’t notice until it’s too late

is my body even my own?
or does it now belong
to some cruel creature
who has me at its mercy,
who will never, never,
never leave me alone?

i hope you’re happy to see
broken pens lying all over my floor
because it’s a fucking miracle
that i took out the anger
on something other than
myself

there’s this longing
tearing through my soul
to slice through that goddamn
stupid white flesh on my wrist
on my neck, on my thigh
anywhere, anywhere will do

but i won’t
because i promised
i promised you,
i promised not to
that’s the only thing
stopping me

anything, anything
would be less painful
than what my mind tells me
you have no idea
no idea, and i’m glad
that it’s me and not you

but sometimes
it’s so frustrating
that nobody understands
i feel so alone
because to everyone else,
i’m insane

i was there
when you called
people like me
mad
i heard what you said
and you will never realise

i want to live
but not like this
how much longer
will i have to live like this?
it’s the worst types of sickness
that nobody can fix

and because i’m like this
nobody will listen
i’m irrational, they say,
it’s not real.
when will they realise
it’s real to me