Long Self harm Poems
Long Self harm Poems. Below are the most popular long Self harm by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Self harm poems by poem length and keyword.
stirred and utterly shaken
I used to find my olive friend
in a bottle of madness
always tried to be a seeker
yet was under the illusion
that this time it would be different
from an outcome of insane destruction
forbidden and fermented fruit
the treacherous divination
foretold a future
but the message of spirits
never sunk in
instead carved a hollow path
of despair and destruction
crazy delirium
unsound and cacophonous
lured my hellish mind
mental dissolution forged a pact
presented nothing but sorrow and pain
until the gift of recovery
only left one path ahead
a day at a time
a saintly miracle
washed away my demons
blessed this lost soul
transcended the impossible
today ice cubes and lemons
grace my thirst
for sobriety and humble surrender
wine changed into water
with the help from angels and friends
I found privileged sediment
at rock bottom craziness
ascended on a road of redemption
amends forgiving and purpose
it has been an intoxicating journey
but the suffering of change
lead to faith and contentment
paramount where on the rocks
simply means undiluted pleasure
with love kindness and compassion
I even appreciate myself once again
and am not deluded anymore
to wallow in self-pity self-harm
bedlam and lunacy
instead I howl to a sober moon
recall that without darkness
cannot be light and trudge
a road of happy destiny
29th November 2024
Iv been praying, is anyone there?
Iv been praying, does anyone care?
I need some peace to balance the chaos
I need someone to hold a seance
I'm lost in the water, can't get free
Oh how I hate being me
The noise is loud, scary at times
The silence deadly with blurry lines
Not able to leave my house
My body moves slow as a mouse
My legs are heavy, almost locked
Everywhere I go there's an invisible block
Sitting in the window, music on
Smoking a cigarette In the sun
The heat warms the window , sounds of the cars
It's the calmest iv been, no thoughts of self harm
Curtains blocking me, I'm safe here
I'm so different from this time last year
Mania and physical illness leading the way
4 years now iv been in this pain
Iv been praying but none are answered
Some questions are best left unanswered
Iv got to get through this blackness
Iv gotta rid all this madness
Sitting alone in my window seat
I just wish I felt complete
So much to deal with, no way out
I wish I knew what all this was about
My arm’s bleeding
Blood dripping on the floor
I’m weeping
I double check if I closed the damn door
My mother thinks I’m sleeping
So, I better start cleaning
I can’t miss a drop, or she’ll start screaming
Oh hell, my arm’s sore
It’s heating
It’s steaming
The cut is so fresh, it’s pleasing
It hurts, but at least… I’m feeling…
I feel I’m healing
Or am I kneeling to the demon
I sit back and start dreaming
Today was a good day!
I got to class and finished my essay
I met my friends and went to a café
All my struggles sailed away
Who the hell am I kidding!
If I’m okay, why is this poem written?
Why am I willing to give up?
Why my mind’s corrupt?
Hell! My arm’s itching
Ugh, I’m just bit-ching!
What the hell I’ll do will these damn wounds?
Will they become obvious scars?
Will people laugh at my tears?
Oh hell, my arm’s bleeding again
Hell, the sheets are stained
I’ll clean this thing
This cut soothed my pain
This cut messed my brain
This cut drove me insane
This cut is… my cocaine.
Form:
Mind desparate for hope
desperatley searches for something to cling onto
something to quiet down the endless cycle of repeating thoughts
that haunt it every early morning and every late night
In a symbolic way the only way to quiet down the pain
is to lose something that makes you human
the humanity within you
once you let the blood from your tired wrists floow freely onto the floor
everyone will look at you as if youre an animal
all you can do is try and reclaim the humanity you´ve lost
along with the whitness of stained floor
Its not your fault
its your mind desparate for hope
desperatley searches for something to cling onto
something to help you survive this unecceraly hard life
I'm worn out and tired physically,
but I'm gonna worship Him.
I'm in emotional pain,
but I'm gonna magnify His name anyhow....
I've been through hell and high water,
but I'll continue to give Him glory....
I'm a wounded worshipper,
I won't stop praising His holy name,
I won't give up,
For I know He will me higher,
I know I can count on Jesus,
to protect me from the enemy's fire.
Through it all,
I never once gave up on my Father,
not once.... no, not once.
I've always known I could look to the hills,
from whence cometh my help,
I've always known my help comes from the Lord....
So I won't quit worshipping Him.
It's easy to praise Him,
when things are going good in your life,
but what about when things are upside down,
and you can do nothing but frown?
What about when you've inflicted self-harm,
when you look to alcohol as a refuge?
What about when your car won't start?
When your children are harder to deal with?
Can you still praise Him in the midst of that?
Can you still praise Him when your money looks funny,
and your change looks strange?
Or when you want to have a more sound mind,
and no longer want to be deranged?
Can you still praise Him when you have no house?
No job?
No friends?
Can you still praise Him?
Praise Him when you're happy,
when you're sad,
when you're mad,
praise Him when you feel lost,
and when you've found yourself in a mess,
walking around depressed,
feeling like you can't go on,
praise His name....
Praise him when you're broken and destroyed....
The words of a wounded worshipper.
Is the Mirror Unkind?, for an Anorexic
by Michael R. Burch
for anyone struggling with self-image and self-worth
She has a comely form
and a smile that brightens her dorm...
but she’s grossly unthin
when seen from within;
soon an entire campus will mourn.
Yet she’d never once criticize
a friend for the size of her thighs.
Do unto others:
sisters and brothers?
Yes, but also ourselves, likewise.
My lovely wife Beth has struggled with an eating disorder for many years. I wrote her a poem titled "Is the Mirror Unkind" soon after meeting her. She was always much lovelier in my eyes than the reflection she saw in the mirror. And she was always much more generous with other people than she was with herself. The flip side of the golden rule is that we should treat ourselves as well as we would have others treat us! I hope anyone struggling with "self reflection" problems will be as generous to themselves as they are to others. And anyone who can sympathize with Beth can sympathize with themselves (hint, hint).
Keywords/Tags: Self Image, Self Harm, Cutting, Mirror, Anorexia, Anorexic, Eating Disorder, Inferiority Complex, Low Self Esteem, Self Worth, Anxiety, Angst, Depression, Hopelessness, Suicide
I am getting older
I am different then I used to be
I do not wear as bright of colors
and my worldview has changed
But why do people assume that I am the same as I was
back in a simpler time
That I am nieve and stupid
That I don't know anything about stress or life
I am only 18 but I can say I know a lot
I have been through a lot in my life
Depression suicidal thoughts self-harm anxiety
And that is only a bit
People expect me to be the same and get offended when they find out
that I have gotten older
Grown up and have had serious problems that can cause me stress
that can change me
I am getting older
I am not nieve I am just as much of an adult as you
I would like to see some understanding
and not just judgment
I am getting older deal with it.
It’s not just Jesus who rose into grace with scars from nails and the cross
Trees grow new branches from knots like wounded soul’s blemish’s scars
A rainforest’s undergrowth thrives in the mist of weeping from heaven
Ebony needs ivory for harmony preferably with tusks attached to the rhino
An elephant under cover of the hat inside a boa constrictor pleases the Prince
Joaquin would write poetry had he not been swallowed by a black raven
On his shoulders and dogs that growl can bite fiercely with razor sharp fangs
Puncture marks empathize when they emphasize conjunction and junctures
A semicolon tattoo depicts the survivor from darkness shadows and light
No smoke without fire and his pen could not heal without fountains of sorrow
Juanita views wrinkles and stretch marks as cinnamon bark’s fine poise
Hides no longer self-harm lacerations with bracelets or covering bangles
Heals from a maze of disgraced projections owns grazes slashes and cuts
Paints a new canvas frames it with witch-hazel twigs leaves howling behind
Sounds all three pedals on forte’s piano has dampened onslaughts of fear
Joseph is a seer who had once lost his vision had dangled his ropes both sides
Of the sea saw but recovered the fulcrum of balance reads palm trees and palms
Life lines strife lines blisters blistering hardship hardened calluses’ resilience
Scars do not scare him as he places his faith into prayer gracing graces and hope
Tosses tussles meaning and harmony moulds silent retreat into flickering candles
‘Can’t put all your eggs into one basket no ominous pancakes without breakage’
What does not bend splinters and rages oozes and festers in foul purulent rage
Confusion needs contradictory feelings or one crosses Styx and Acheron too early
And the boatman needs both oars and currents to negotiate drift wood and pain
Any two master needs departure and destination roaring storms and calm respite
True ivory cannot be burnt and grace is a virtue but not without turning the table
21st April 2019
I am the queen of self destruction.
Ritualistic Razor sharp scrutiny of my reflection -
constantly spewing hate at my mid-section,
whilst effortlessly faking the pursuit of perfection.
A crumbled up heart beckons restitution in the midst
of train-wrecked relationships,
ruinous friendships,
and crumbled up to do lists,
in white-knuckled fists.
The essence of happiness remains a mere mirage
for one who is an expert in self-sabotage.
With nothing but empty reminders sprayed out on a dreary collage,
it is exhausting living an ever consuming facade.
Procrastinated plans worship at my feet,
whilst brooding and bellowing as I hit snooze on repeat.
Impatiently my ambitions take a seat,
before wisely declaring undeniable defeat.
Daily my mind’s army assumes a familiar avoidant stance.
Love and hate engage, again, in a repetitive dance,
between an avoidant retreat and a stagnant advance.
It is clear: as long as I sit on the throne of
self-destruction,
for me… for being whole..
there will not be another chance..
delusions, illusions,
these random contusions,
idolic notions of
noiseless commotions,
keeps me in motion,
whirling with the gravity
I'm on my knees,
praying what you're saying
I still believe
and if its true
what i really need,
is to be sent away
from family
and friends,
I will contend
but that doesn't mean
it's not right for me,
can't you see
I'm not in control of this body
anymore
restless and sore,
an endless downpour
of emotions, evoke erosions
my sanity, slowly bleeds
leaving me a shell of me
all the while I beg and plead
leave me be, leave me be
I'm fine I'm fine,
you're acting crazy,
not me, can't you see,
I see it all so plainly,
time for me to be set free
from this false reality
with this slice I'll set it right,
clean and quick,
pick it up,
hazy drift,
I'm giving up,