These bandages I wear, they are not for me, but for you.
As you wish not to see the scars you have cut through my own hand,
And yet you deny me the freedom to feel the cool breeze on my arms,
Even now you will not let me to clean my wounds with salty tears,
Because you fear the work your taunts have kneaded into me by the knife of your palms.

But still I can lash back at you with wit of the tongue,
And try and transfer the hurt inflicted by your angry looks
And hasteful glances, which I know so well is your thoughts of judgement,
But someday i will run liberated, free from your prejudice,
I will show my pride as i laugh to the sun with no one's consent.

And then i will be above you, shining as bright as the sun,
Because i have risen through these harassments to such
Happiness you cannot quash with your grappling fingers,
And my scars will have faded with the light of my thoughts,
But will remind me to never look back on what you have done.

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please, on friday, the 1 st of march, wear something orange or draw a butterfly on your wrist. if you will post a message underneath the poem!!! it would mean so much, PLEASE, a hundred times over, you don't know how much this means!!

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hey, nice poem, does this have anything to do with you?

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kind of, my dad's half sister had a bit of trouble with self harm, i was really close to her before it destroyed her joy, she's getting better though.

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The clouds are masks to the sun's glow 
those days when you are sad aren't real 
we may never look over those mountains 
but look to the stars for a friend 
counting the lies you have heard 
but realize that you are covered up 
so take your mask off to see you behind it

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