Cuts
She cuts her wrist,
Watch the blood drip,
She rip she soul out,
She cries at night,
There is no light shinning through her,
There is cuts everywhere,
Scars of remainder of her past,
Scars that won’t fade or wash away,
She brought this on herself,
She knew what she was doing,
She didn’t care to think that people cared for her,
She thought she was weak,
She tries not weep,
She never knew herself,
She never had the gaudiness of a mother,
She wanted a mother figure but never knew she would act out on the anger towards of a mother she never knew,
This girl is me.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
Added by Poetry Lover
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