What Little HOPE

Dark clouds move on,

Dark thoughts drift to the back of the mind

The storm has passed

But the damage lingers

It lingers in the new scars lining my arm

It lingers in the eyes of strangers when they see and ask if I’m okay.

It lingers in the mind when I look at them and know this relapse will not be the last

This will never be the last cut,

Will never be the last scar

Will never be the last breakdown

Will never be the last moment where I call out for help through my actions.

Because using my voice doesn’t work.

I physically feel a type of pain when I ask for help.

My thoughts Yell at me that my priority is a 1 out of a 10.

That my crisis is not worth the help from others

That my pain is meaningless 

That my emotions don’t matter

That my voice will not be heard

And so I the only way I know how to ask for help is through my actions

The actions of bleeding

Actively bleeding 

Because if I’m not bleeding then I’m not worth it.

Because if I’m not bleeding, then I’m not an emergency 

Because if I’m not bleeding then there is no proof to my mental health

Because if I’m not Bleeding it’s all in my head

Because if I’m not bleeding 

My life does not matter

My existence is not real

My kindness is fake

My empathy is manipulated 

My life is wearing a mask

And when that mask is ripped from my face all you see is someone who tries their best and fails

It’s funny because my middle name is HOPE, yet I have little Hope for myself