They call us cutters
As if 
our actions need a title 
to go along 
with our scissors,
Fingernails, 
Safety pins 
and knives.
As if 
we have to be categorized 
in a section that is labeled 
“Dangerous” 
may hurt themselves 
or others. 
They say 
we are self mutilators 
That we 
don’t know 
how to handle our pain 
so we turn to another source 
to release it. 
I handle my pain very well 
Perfectly tucked 
inside the sharp end of a blade. 
My pain has no limit.
It is a revolving door of bullshit 
that was bestowed upon me
It is father’s callous hands 
creeping up between my inner thighs
Bad touch good touch
It is welts 
across my legs 
it was something I said 
Grandmother’s wrath could of had me dead
It was mother’s neglect 
didn’t care 
whether I 
would make it or not. 
So my pain 
can rest between the lines 
of a symmetrical pair of rusty scissors 
Its no coincidence 
that safety pins 
are small enough 
to fit in my pocket 
and feels good 
before 5th period. 
I swear 
there is nothing 
like a fingernail 
riding up 
and down your forearm 
like a trotting horse 
burning the flesh 
till you become numb
I dont need 
to tap inside my veins 
to feel pain. 
This high 
has me buggin’ 
This rush 
is insane 
Chemically induced 
I slip away 
into the corners of my brain. 
You try to make us feel shame. 
But I 
don’t see anything wrong 
with my Extra-curricula activities. 
Ya’ll bent on me 
Like nuns with holy water 
Tryna compell me 
with the blood of christ. 
But ill flog myself 
for my own sins,
Cause I get off like that. 
What the fuck does it matter to you
If I run with scissors on purpose. 
Quitting is for losers
So ill never give up 
on this painful recreation
Its just something 
about a blade 
that brings a titling sensation
Judge me if you want 
I could care less
This is the only way 
I know how 
To sit inside my brain
And clear this mess.