I caught myself today holding a broken-off hairclip.
I found myself staring down at a reddened
wrist and wondering why the hell I keep
doing this to myself.
I rubbed the back of my neck and
winced because the skin was scratched red.
I thought it was finished.
I thought that I could stop
wearing long sleeves perpetually, stop
wearing my hair down, stop
praying that you wouldn't notice the way I
flinched when anything touched me.
I caught myself today leaving raised marks on the
inside of my left
I didn't even realize it.
It became such a habit--sit, read, scratch
sit, read, scratch
that now, if I happen to be
sitting on the floor at the foot of my
bed, my fingers instinctively find that broken-
my right hand abuses,
as if disconnected from my brain,
the inside of that left wrist
[really mine? I can't feel the pain until
the back of my neck,
and now I'm back to the long
sleeves and loose
hair and terror and
darling, help me.