Michelle Bailey Poet Rhyme

Best Friend

The situation intensifies, I can’t get calm
The only solution is to again self-harm
Oh the joy as I imagine the first cut
Thankful for a solution to get me out of my rut
I prepare myself and the equipment I need
Like an junkie its addiction I feed
I close my door and bare my flesh
Not caring that afterwards I’ll be a bloody mess
My heart beating fast, the tears begin to pour
I’m sorry but I could not just endure any more
The glistening silver blade, not big in size
Is like a trophy, and that I won first prize
The tissues ready, so now I can begin
The first cut is superficial and thin
But the release it gives, my tears fall stronger
Knowing I won’t have to endure my pain for much longer
As I think of the hurt and as I think of my pain
Sends me slashing my legs again and again
‘You’re a stupid cow, you’re just an annoyance’
The self-harm is my only reward and comeuppance
My leg now red, I can’t even see the cuts I’ve made
The power of self-harm over my mind it did invade
I pick up my tissue and start to clean up my work of art
Knowing the whole process soon will again re-start
My arms tell the stories of the scars that I now bear
My tears tell of my pain when you think there’s none there
But then after a while the razor becomes a useless metal
Surely I’d get more relief from my iron or boiling water from my kettle
I start to smile when I think of my flesh beginning to singe
And that no longer will you have to hear me whinge
For I will have found a new friend who will always be around
In the midnight hour the shiny sharp metal can be found
And in the twinkling of an eye, my flesh will become bare
And with each cut to the skin, I say goodbye to every care
If you have troubles and the problem you feel you cannot mend
Then please let me introduce you to my grey shiny silver best friend 

2 September 2014

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Richard Lamoureux September 3, 2014 at 4:48 PM My wife works with young women with eating disorders and some of them are also into cutting. When I am under stress I chew on my fingers, sometimes till they bleed. I can't seem to stop the compulsion so I think I understand how you feel on some level. With the pain there is some weird release. This is a superbly written honest account. I applaude you. My heart and soul poem is called the Ripping. Michelle Bailey September 4, 2014 at 10:53 AM Thank you for ur comment Richard, I find poetry a great way of expressing things I struggle to verbalise, I am going to try and find the poem u wrote.