Self Harm Poems - Poems about Self Harm

godless hymn

I wasn’t born — I was expelled,
From choking smoke and screams I yelled.
No breath of grace, no holy light,
Just claws and fire in endless night.

No lullaby, no sweet refrain,
Just rusted chains and seeping pain.
A crib of ash, a whip for love—
I crawled while angels laughed above.

They fed me rot, they bled me dry,
They laughed each

Control

Her soul was starved of acceptance 
An aching hunger wanting to be fed 
Her body weak
Not from the lack of food
But for the lack of love for her skin
Being black meant a life where no matter what she did
She would never win
She couldn't control her race 
But she could control her body
She wanted to be

My blood, my comfort

She always hated the sight of blood
But now it had become her greatest comfort
She felt her blood was the only one who understood 
What it was like to be judged
Both hated on for their colour
Both wanting to be hidden
Both wanting to be invisible 

Each cut sent waves of euphoria throughout her body
She wasn't a masochist

When racism met suicide

Scars fade but trauma doesn't 
She wished it was the the other way round
At least then she wouldn't be haunted by the memories
Maybe the cuts wouldn't hurt as much 
Maybe she wouldn't have done it at all

Each tear was another cut
Each cut made her numb
She didn't want people to see her cry she thought Her

Reclaiming the absence

To be a good father You already have to be a good man But apparently he couldn't be either guess it was just easier For him to be just like his father

Him being a black father Made it harder The stereotypes That followed him around That policed He probably internally agreed He felt it must've

Incarnate

Bloodlet me, my precious
You can make this my willing sacrifice
To cure me of impurity, of sickness.
Cut gashes into my face.
Discard chunks of my body.
These cliffs into my mind,
Scars of unhealing, they save me.
Blotch my red everywhere.
Nobody wants my stained mind, but you—
You save all the sympathy—
Iridescent, darling, could you ever understand?
Can't you see,
I want to

Onions

my dear friends,

i am writing to address
a memory of sorts:
a lovely barbecue,
evening, on the beach.

you all brought
ingredients
to pile on my barbecue.

you all brought your onions
your palette knives
your cutting board
and one of you were
cutting onions.
                at the beach.

the juices, they pricked
pricked

Hell Hot Water

The little beads rise to the surface of her skin.
The skin that seems to have
'gotten scratched by the cat'

One too many times.

But as she goes to erase all evidence of her deflect
She feels it sting.

A sting she knows all too well.

Her blood feeling the tension of the gleaming blade against her skin
The sting comes and

Silent Screams

I see the lines, I trace the skin,
I swear this time won’t start again.
The pain fades fast, but not for long,
The ache remains, the pull too strong.
I see the lines, I hide them well,
A silent scream, A private hell.
If only I could yell, 
Help,
But if I reach, if I let go,
Maybe someone else will know.
Maybe,

If only

If only I knew 
What all this would do
I never meant
To be broke and bent 
I try and try
But its never enough
And just like that 
I call their bluff
Im broken and hurt
Blown off like dirt
But I hide away
The emotions I face
As if put on a hidden display 
And the only one who will ever see
Is

Heartbound

A cold, silver knife
rests on my shaking fingers.
I graze the blade across my life;
the slicing of it lingers.
I push the metal through my skin,
right to my chest, it cuts.
I have to let the blade in,
to remove my outer crust.
I peel, I tear, I rip
to reveal my blood-stained bones.
I put my hand up to my ribs,
and

Desparate for hope

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

Exit Stage Right

Someone slowly makes a move
Somewhere in the night
A light switch, a lighter
Some razor blade laughter 
Making someone alright

For an hour or maybe two
Any more, you’re getting greedy
Drive her home in the morning
Any more, you’re getting needy
And who’s got time
For that in their life?

The dark bishops dismay
At this bleak array 
Of black pawns hiding
Just out of

Unintentional Self Harm

I sought the balm of quiet streams,
The hush of leaves in twilight's seam.
A softer touch, a breathless sigh,
To soothe the ache, to still the cry.

Yet whispers grew, a haunting hum,
A melody too soft to shun.
Its lilting notes, like woven thread,
Bound me close where silence bled.

Two paths diverged beneath the trees,
One bore thorns, the other ease.
But

Void in Perspective

“She spoke to me; expressing desire to rid of her being soon. In her possession lay a bottle of ibuprofen and a dozen sharp razors too. That three slits down her butchered arms is all it really takes; that her life is intolerable and has been burdened through mistake.
…
In a state of panic, she opened

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