Mara

To my girlfriend Mara, who has struggled with self harm for a while. I really like her a lot, so I wrote a poem for her.

When she was ten years old she found a pocket knife.

It felt sacred and fatal in her trembling palms.

Blood fell from the skin of her lips as she flicked it open,

Then more blood fell from her wrists.

She hid her pinking scars under the night's nose.

She cried out to the God that burned in the world,

But God was silent.

Three years later here she stands in front of me,

Her curls rested on her shoulders like her glasses on her nose.

Black looks so flattering on her.

I bet her lips taste lovely;

I bet her arms are warm.

I bet that one day, it'll get better.

Author's Note

There is some self harm in this so don't read this if it is at all triggering. The ending is kind of bad but I wasn't sure how to end it.