I cut when I’m sad
I cut when I’m mad
I cut when I’m scared
I cut due to curiosity
I cut when in doubt
My cuts have filled half my arms
Most have faded white
Some are healing brown
Hopefully, only a few are dried scabs
And fresh red
Those horizontal cuts I did when I’m depressed
Those diagonal cuts I did when I’m angry
Those vertical cuts I really did to try and test
The amount of tears I’ve put in
Carving myself and perfecting my scars
Because I am an art piece
Like a performer on the stage being mercilessly judged
But they seem to turn a blind eye
To the scars
To the tears
To the ruined mascara
And it’s for the best that it stays unnoticed
Before they start publicizing my personal issues