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 12 years ago I carved my first scars. She asked me to help, but couldn't stop. I wanted to help, so I started.


11 years ago I had fallen into a hole of fake smiles and a hatred for myself that I couldn't name.

10 years ago was despair, nothing to believe in except the words on my wrist to convince myself there was something more.

9 years ago I was weightless, skin and bones, and craving the destruction of myself.

8 years ago I was weighed down by you, while carving my skin in secret.

7 years ago it was all new yet the sadness and anger still bleeding from my soul.

6 years ago I was escaping my shelter of shame and confusion to a whole new independent disarray.

5 years ago didn't exist; slathered in hangovers, cigarettes, and mistakes. Blurred from reality.

4 years ago I fell, I slammed, and then I awoke.

3 years ago I questioned, I decided, and I hoped.

2 years ago everything was scary and wild. I was alive on top of mountains, my soul screaming.

1 year ago I felt everything. I let myself completely crumble and heal, then rebuild. I sculpted my skin for the last time while laying in a puddle of vulnerability.

Today I love the poems written on my skin, the girl that just wanted to help 12 years ago, and the passion that escapes my lips. Today, life is a mix of trust and hope laid upon the strength of my soul.

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