History of my life

I want to cut myself again

To eliminate this pain,

As if the skin knew

How to heal what the heart cries.

Each line on my body

Is a cry that did not come out,

A trace of what I was

And what the world forgot.

But I know that the wound

Does not extinguish the inner fire,

Nor does the edge of steel

Silence the voice of fear.

I wish that by cutting

The sadness would melt away,

That in the blood all this bitter heaviness would be carried away.

However, when I look

At each marked scar,

I see that the skin whispers

That the fight is not over.

It is not the edge that is the answer

Nor the cut the solution;

It is self-love

That soothes the heart.

I want to cut myself again,

But I know that there is another path,

One where the light awaits

And love is true.