She cuts her skin,
With a razor, so thin
To bleed out all the pain...
which hides inside,
and won't subside,
'til she cuts herself again.
She demonstrates,
a luv for hate,
with words scratched into her arm.
Those words she chose,
Changed as often as clothes,
But they continue to spell out harm.
Nobody felt,
She could love herself,
So why should she even try?
They called her strange,
Tried to blame her age,
While missing the beauty she hides.
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