You sit in your bedroom
Hair knotted and dirty
And hands that tremble so bad
That even a cigarette can not calm your constant nerves
You bite your tongue until you taste blood
And you will yourself not to cry
Because you are better than that
But no better than intentionally drawing blood from your pretty pale wrists
And you take care of those horrible cuts
With pretty bowed band-aids
Until you find yourself asleep on the floor
You do not shed one tear
But when your hand accidentally grazes the jagged end of the fence
On your way to the park the following morning
You cry for hours
And don't understand why.
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