My body is a canvas

Trying not to cut is so hard.

These scars I wear are who I am,

A faded piece of art.

A tight fit that clings to me,

Reminders of my past.

Hidden shall they remain,

For fear the world will see who I truly am.

Battle scars on my hips, 

Were once a cry of pain.

Each slash shows my weakness,

Each rip shows my hate.

I knew that I had to stop,

Although I could not.

I tried and tried,

And succeeded,

But now I find,

I'm at square one,

All alone without my knife,

But I still will carry on.

They energy boils through me,

My hands ripple madly,

I need to,

I need to,

But I know that I must not.

These scars I wear are beautiful,

And how I wish to add to them.

An unfinished symphony shall I remain.

I want to wear them proudly,

I want to show no fear,

But I'll stay back behind you,

Never truly there.

Author's Note

I wrote this while trying not to cut, it's so hard not to.

I know this poem sucks, but deal with it. I'll write what I want, when I want.
I haven't cut for about two weeks, but it's getting really tough.