Fourteen

Fresh scars have appeared on my arm. The deed done by a razor blade I swiped across the tender skin, leaving the trail of a lifeline to stain the floor beneath. Red is so beautiful.

Thank god my carpet is the same tint:  bold, dangerous, seductive red.

The scars always heal, the physical pain gone, but the lines created by the blade will not fade. No, they will remain as a reminder to myself that I struggled once and overcame that hardship I felt the need to cut myself over.

To all my friends who have sought sanction in the same way. To all my friends who have felt weak, ashamed, and pathetic for engraving your skin. You are strong. Your scars prove your strength. You took control to overpower the pain that drove you into a corner and you have permanently made your statement against your enemies. You did what you had to do to rekindle your mind with your body. //