They burn.
The cuts beneath my clothing.
Everytime my pants rub against my leg.
Everytime my shirt lifts up.
They'llSeeThey'llSeeThey'llSee.
The cuts.
I'll be exposed.
My secret no longer kept a secret.
"Attention beggar"
"Freak"
"Weirdo"
Names I've been called in the
Past
Present
Future.
Names that may possibly be true.
This poem is quite awful.
I don't know what to write about.
So I chose self-harm.
As always.
The easiest thing for me to write about.
