Thank God
For the words
That keep
My blood
And bone
Safely contained
Within my skin.
Words on the page
Are equivalent
To a cut
Intentionally inflicted.
When the words
Won’t come,
This is when I am afraid.
Without language
To spill onto the page,
All my insecurities
Race back
And forth
Between
Brain and fingers
In search of
An exit.
Words--
His words--
Free me
From my demons,
From my hatreds,
From my loves,
From my hurts.
September 30, 2010, the last
Infliction,
My last relapse,
My last raising
Of questions
For which I had
No answer.
A public act
On the bus
On my way home
After my first class.
Why?
How?
No hiding--
I wore a sleeveless dress,
Cut myself on my shoulder
With my house-key.
I found blood--
I saw red--but
Was unsatisfied,
Uncalmed,
Unimpressed.
And so,
I stopped
Though the reasons
Haven’t changed,
The impulse still comes,
The emotions still rise.
“Leave me alone: I am
Enjoying this day,
This life,
This choice.
Leave me alone.”
And the demons--
They listen.
I do have power.
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