The Pen and the Knife (Why I write)

I want to tell you a story about a girl. This girl was beautiful. She was skinny. She was everything you would want to be. But she wasn't happy. A frown was permanently etched on her face it seemed. This beautiful skinny girl once was happy. She had the whole world routing for her but things happened and the world turned on her.

Now she's locked in a dark room with nothing in it. It's just her. She's all alone. All alone except

A pen and a knife

Tears are streaming down this beautiful skinny girls face as she looks at the PEN and the KNIFE. She wants to take away her pain. She wants to be free.

She picks up the PEN.

"WHAT ARE YOU GOOD FOR?!"  She screams at the PEN. Then she hurls it across the room.

She then picks up the KNIFE. She cradles it gently in her arms. The KNIFE had gotten her out of her pain more times then she could count. She wanted to be free. So she took the KNIFE and put it to her wrist.

She cried as she brought the KNIFE back and forth on her arms, thighs, and stomach.

Then she sleeps.

There's a bloody, scarred, skinny, beautiful girl locked in a dark room all by herself. All alone except a PEN and a KNIFE.

She picks up the PEN and hurls it. Repeating yesterday, and the day before, and the day before. Year after year.

One day the girl decides that the KNIFE isn't doing her any good. She picks up the KNIFE and hurls it. "WHAT ARE YOU GOOD FOR!" She screams at it.

She picks up the PEN and cradles it in her arms. Could this PEN be her savior?

She takes the PEN and starts to write on her arms, thighs, and stomach.

WORTHLESS. FAT. UGLY. STUPID. DUMB. DESERVES TO DIE.

All the words are etched on her skin over and over and over again.

She hurls the PEN and screams. "WHAT ARE YOU GOOD FOR!"

She picks up her KNIFE and then cradles it in her arms. She brings it back and forth on her skin. Back and Forth. Back and Forth. Back and Forth.

She cries! She cries as she slices into her skin! slices into her words that her PEN wrote.

It is much less painful to use a KNIFE then a PEN right?

 Her bloody hand picks up the PEN that she hurled.

HOPE she write on her hand through the blood.

Is there such a thing?

HOPE she writes again and again.

She writes and writes and writes and writes until her whole body is covered with HOPE and blood.

The blood dries. The cuts turn to scars. But the words HOPE never leave her skin.

HOPE! HOPE! HOPE! HOPE! HOPE!

She tells herself again and again.

There's a beatiful lonely skinny girl locked in a room. All alone except with a KNIFE and a PEN.

She picks up the PEN.

"HOPE" she whispers to herself.

"HOPE"

Little did she know that the room she was locked in had unlocked.

She was no longer trapped in her mind.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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