My wrists are marked by shades of scars, When love for myself escaped to Mars
Leaving me feeling empty and alone, Fighting in this battle bone to bone.
As I stand today my feet feel a little lighter, I know longer want to say goodbye in a fire.
These wrists I harbor will forever be a reminder, To be gentle to myself treating them a little kinder.
I can now find a beauty in what I use to cover up and hide, As they allow me to write-when I feel most alive.
My words are my sanctuary whether happy or sad, They are experiences of the life thus far I’ve had.
Knowing today I have so much to give, Days to be filled with happiness yet to live.
I still have so many words to write, To think I almost lost that with a cut of a knife.
I no longer take for granted little things like touching a pen to a page, Our wrists carry a strength we don’t realize we engage.
These joints are truly a piece of art, As they can connect the mind, hand and heart.