Little Wounds

When I found out a step relative of mine, used to cut herself,
I tried one time to cut myself,
To see what it was like,
I hated it, it hurt, I gave it a strong dislike,
I lied and said the bandaid on the side of my hand was a cat scratch (I get those all the time).
But this time,
I just reached for the pocket knife like I've done it a million times,
I've never been one to cut, not the many times
My heart has hurt, so I have no idea why I rushed to it,
And I just did it.
I never thought I would get here,
Not even near.
My first real time cutting,
Now my hand and the back of my wrist is bleeding,
And it's all stinging,
And it hurts,
And I wish I hadn't done it at all,
But as the blade sliced through my skin, and my eyes were blurry with tears, I didn't feel it at all.
(Maybe that's because my old knife was not as sharp,
And couldn't dig into my heart, the steep scarp.)
It was so easy,
Until the guilt set in, now I feel queasy,
Not physically, but emotionally,
And even though I didn't go deep, my pain is worse,
I'm so sorry I did this, I wish I could reverse,
And I plan on never doing it again,
Never cutting again.
But I will not apologize to your face,
I want to see your face,
When you see the few, little marks,
As loud barks,
Cries for help,
That when someone I love is in danger and I can do nothing about it
But protest it.