I read your poem as I ran my hand down my leg I felt the rage swell up inside me, but I took a deep breath and just let it go.
I was 14 when I told my mom that I mutilated my skin for attention. I was 15 when my friend told me she only drug metal across her skin so her boyfriend would hug her tighter.
It was that same year that i stopped trying to hide it.
I am now 17 Freshman year seems farther away than when I turned 8. I was twisted up in lies and drama and hatred and sorrow, and I caught the thing I call an outrage.
The outrage I feel is that you lie to yourself. I have never met one person who is recovering that said they didn't do it for attention.
It is for attention, it is for someone to notice. I don't care where you do it, it is for attention.
I wrote words of hate on my arms and legs. I didn't bleed to feel release, I bled so I could have someone who acted like I mattered.
I would have never admitted it then, but I always knew that I did it because I wanted someone to see that I was hurting.
I'm outraged that people still feel the same that I felt years ago.
I was almost so far gone that it wouldn't have mattered what anyone said to me, I wanted someone to care and if it meant being dead to see someone care, I wouldn't hesitate.
You cut for attention my dear, If you didn't, you would have never posted that poem. You know there is always a risk of someone finding out, but that's just what you want.
You can't outright say it, but you want attention, you want to feel like you matter,
I hope you realize one day that cutting is not the way to get someone to hear your silent cries
You must speak up My dear, Because My dear, you do matter