Short Selfharm Poems

Short Selfharm Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Selfharm by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Selfharm by length and keyword.


Proof

i like seeing the blood
When i cut my leg,
i like to see the
Red flowing out of me.
It proves that i am real
That i am alive
That i am here.
That's why i like to cut
It's not just for control.
Its proof that i am human


Dibujando Estrellas

Dibujo estrellas

En mi piel como en el papel.

Para el alma vieja y dulce,

Eso no fue más allá del verano de quinto grado.

Para el falso hijo de gran espíritu,

Eso me destruyó para su propio disfrute,

Cuando ellos eran realmente los que estaban siendo

Destruido detrás de las puertas.

No dibujo un círculo ni un cuadrado

Dibujo estrellas.
© madi moore  Create an image from this poem.

relief

A fleeting satisfaction 
A silent pain
You use this to cope,
Can you call yourself sane?

An effort to relieve,
A try to be okay;
A silent cry for help,
Yet you hide it meticulously.

Other times you deserve it,
Or at least you think you do.
A punishment for being you,
A pathetic comfort.

A tiny metal,
Slits of satisfaction;
Bleeding and breathtaking,
Deadly yet fulfilling.
© mika truse  Create an image from this poem.

Body Language

Your body remembers it all.
	whether you do or don’t.

Your body remembers the pain you felt.
	even when you can’t recall.

Your body will trigger the flashbacks.
	and you’ll take them as dreams.

Your body will remind you of the setbacks.
	but you will ignore it.

Your body will shut down parts of you,
	to keep you alive.

Your body will speak to you,
	in a language only you can learn to understand.

Your body’s language,
	is the hardest language known to man.
© madi moore  Create an image from this poem.

Pain

Slit, slit slit, 
easy flick of the wrist,
Seep down deep
where metal and skin meet
In my dreams
it's never what it seems
"Get over it, 
quit throwing a fit",
they say confused
never knowing what it's like to be used
Pick, pick pick
at the emotions 'til they're slick
with sick devotions
Fight, fight, fight
in the middle of the night
Sweat pouring down my face
My efforts and struggling are nothing but waste
Hiding in these congested jars
are memories that are left in open scars
Form: Rhyme


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