April 17, 2014

One thing I still know in my soul, after the rest falls away;

as long as I feel pain, I'm alive. 

Many people think self-harmers are suicidal but in reality, I used to hurt myself to make sure I was still alive. When the tears wouldn't come, when words couldn't express, when no one understood or could reach me, I bled. In those moments I knew; if my heart is still pumping blood through these veins and out of my skin, greeting the fresh oxygen with a bright red kiss and painting my skin with the reality of pain and purpose - I am alive. I am alive. 

And I know that now. Now that you deny that everything we were was real. Now that you hurt me and when you see me bleed, you laugh. You think you're stronger. You think you have the answers and you think that I am low and sad. But I know now more than ever: you are dead. You are rigid, unmoving. Your blood is black and motionless. You are a corpse. A ghost. And that's how you've been haunting me. In the corners of my closets. In the feeling of my sheets, in the smell of the fresh April air. You're there. You're there. 

But I'm realizing now it's just a memory. One I must lay to rest in peace, so I may go on living. And I will go on living. I will let this make me softer. I will release the pain and heal. 

And I will get hurt again. 

And again. 

And again. 

And I will learn to make different mistakes. And sometimes I'll learn nothing. Sometimes it will feel like I am dying. But I am alive. I am alive in the pain. I am a part of the world. And you are nothing. You are weak. You are beneath me. You are dead. I am at my own center. And you are lost, trying to find yours. I am alive and I hear a new day calling. Is it dark in your coffin? Come out. Come out if you can. I'll be the one with color in my cheeks. The one drawn toward the sun although it burns. The one who feels. And if that's all I'm ever known for I will count myself lucky. 

I am strong. 

I am broken. 

I am free. 

I am alive. I am alive.