Try

Trying not to cry,

trying not to lie,

of myself, I despise,

tired of dad's repetitive lies,

can't help but self-criticize,

I look at my arms,

all I see are white lines,

for I'd intended,

that each would take my life,

the little girl in me, she cries and cries,

my pain, I fictionalize,

over 40 red lines,

carved into my thighs,

my heart and soul, it continues to wonder why,

my faith in happiness, it shrivels up and dies.