the first time i hated myself, i was 9 years old.
groups of soulless children followed me around the schoolyard
calling me diseased ridden, disgusting, fat...
the laughed as my tears splashed on the table at which i sat
i first lied about being fine left my mouth at age 10
when my mother combed her fingers through my hair
asking me why i didn't want to eat dinner or go to school
or wake up
i was 11 when i first picked up a box cutter.
i had forgotten how to smile...
so i drew red smiley faces on my wrist
so maybe they would scar and remind me...
when i was 12, i broke my skin for the first time
and the tiny balloons of blood that inflated randomly in the scratches
gave me satisfaction and almost a high
i had never felt before.
the first thoughts of death came to me at 13
i couldn't walk by the laundry room without thinking about drinking bleach
or into the kitchen without thinking about slitting my wrists
or on the sidewalk without thinking of jumping in front of cars
i was alone at 14
curled under covers, smelling of incense and tears
not really alive...just breathing
just waiting for fate to maybe save me from inner oblivion