Cutting – A Poem

When I was young
I cut the sadness
from my heart
by way of
arms and breasts.

With slices from
the razor blade
I put the darkness
building up
inside my soul
to rest.

Now being older
I’m not free
to do those violent
things to me.
It’s unbecoming
when you’re gray
to hack and slash
and cut away.

With age comes
our maturity
and wisdom
and serenity.
But I still churn
and I still yearn
did all that good stuff
pass by me?
I still feel rather lost.

I guess that I won’t
cut myself
or lose my mind
or break my skin
because I know who’s watching me
the people that I influence
and what they’d think
and who I’d hurt.
And I won’t pay that cost.

So what gets broken?
Not my skin
but something else
that’s deep within
and I thank God
HE holds me fast
for otherwise where would I be?
A fraction of the strength that’s me.