Thursday, 12 January 2017

poetry 2017 / 009

Love, Lancet

Two weeks clean
I feel so independent
I don't even have a blade
(not on me, anyway,
though Alannah wants one, I know)
It seems stupid now
Why did I ever cut?

I tried to tell someone,
times of confidence eating at break
friends notice I feel better.
Told Fergus I was hurting from his vitriol
He apologised, blamed it
on anger issues.
There's no excuse for being an asshole.

I just feel no one understands me.
I hate them all but I hate myself more.
I feel awful.
I'm so fat and a massive nerd.
A cow.
A nobody.

Everyone hates me.
Why do I even try?
I have no blade
but I have a pencil sharpener
and a jeweller's screwdriver.

Somebody save me?

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