Skin Deep

Writing about a little self-harm for a little self-love.

They say that inner beauty is more valuable--

So profound, but where is the proof?

Maybe that’s why so many people peel away the layers

And scrape the scarred surface in such a hurry:

It’s not like they really have any place to be,

Just a nicer one with fewer judgments and justifications.

They say the pen is mightier than the sword--

But i’ve seen people stab and shear the skin

Only to let their blood and souls pour freely,

Purging themselves of every negative feeling

While adrenaline fuels the heart and numbs the mind.

No sword was ever needed or used for this damage--

I’ve seen people use butter knives, razor blades,

And everything in between.

I’ve even seen an impromptu cleansing

With freshly trimmed though anxious nails:

Instead of cutting or slicing or shaving the skin away,

The instruments in question just dug until the vessel broke,

A sea of capillaries bursting as the blood

Flooded over the bones and barricades.

I’ve seen all this because no matter how pained

My reflection looked, I couldn’t tear my eyes away;

It stung at first, but satisfaction spilled forth

As the levee and flesh broke free.

These people don’t have an armory--they have kitchens

And the desperation to make weapons

Out of everyday utensils and themselves.

They say that beauty is only skin deep--

At this rate, there might not be any skin left.

Maybe if I hide my scars or pretend they're beauty marks,

Maybe then I can at least feel pretty.