Maybe something good

will come from all this

slicing on my smooth skin,

heavy bleeding out of my aching soul,

and opening of my body.

I’m just trying to carve out

the figure I desire,

the figure he desires,

a body I can touch and not

weep for it to change,

a body he’ll stop to look at

and whole heartedly love.


Maybe I'll suffocate one night

under my silk pillow

and wake up cracking

out of a cocoon

with beautiful blue wings

to take me away

from the feeling of suffering.


Maybe new skin will grow

over my wounded arms

and bleeding heart

thicker and softer than

the one surrounding the

wilting rose I am now.

Hopefully the blade 

won’t cut as deep

on those wrists,

as they do

on mine.


Maybe I'll find

someone to pick up

the limbs of my lifeless form

and sow them back together,

but until then

I will surrender myself

to the thought of

being infinitely undesirable.

And I'll let the

next boy I see

uproot me from myself,

come and beat me down,

and break me apart

again and again.

Just to try and feel 

whole for a night.


Maybe this one will use

his hands to love

instead of making me fall

into the feeling 

where I’m afraid to trust,

instead of scooping my insides out

and eating them in front of me,

instead of holding me so tight

that when he lets go

my skin isn't bright anymore.

He’ll kiss these cuts

until they bloom into

scars of my past

a memory of who I was

no longer who I am.


Maybe I can overcome

the one who loved 

with his fingers 

more than his heart,

the one who silenced me when

I screamed for freedom,

the one who held me like his trophy

except for when I needed it,

the one who beat me

so I’d mold into his idea of perfection,

the one who never touched me

but still gave me

wounds that never heal.


Maybe one day

the shackles

that bind me to him

will break out of his boredom

and I will finally

be free

from the fear

that courses through my veins

when he calls out my name.


Maybe I can finally 

have the happiness I yearn for,

I can finally hold myself 

and let my pain howl out.

I can escape this feeling

of fading into my sorrows.

My memories wash away

like tears down my face,

and those emotional little droplets 

water the wilting rose

that was once my blooming heart.


Maybe a seed will

fall into my soul

and grow healing and feeling

in my own body again.

Rooted in happiness

and serenity.

Watered by self love

and flushing out the pain.

It grows and grows into

a bright yellow sunflower

blossoming with the light of

my new found smile.

Built with a strong and

well protected stem,

no longer crawling

but sprouting

to the surface.


Maybe these new eyes

won't be like the others,

and will stay innocent.

He’ll cut the delicate flower I am

and put me in a vase,

filled with purity and hope.

His lips speak life into my veins

and revive who I once was.

And even if my scars never heal,

they’ll always be

his favorite places to kiss.

And maybe, just maybe,

my insecurities will grow into roses 

he loves to smell.

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 


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