Could I Cry?

Copyright, Ericka

I wrote this in the view point of my friend Kelly. She wrote me a very long note about how helpless she felt about my cutting, and how she wished she could help, if only I’d let her… So I dedicate this to her.

Could I cry if I knew how you felt?

I don’t know, because I don’t know how you feel, because you won’t tell me.

You tell your skin, so pure and unscarred, And you scar it up with your pain.

Why can’t you tell me? Why can’t you yell at me, tell ME I’m the whore, the dirty disgusting person you think you are. I’m the one who has hurt you, yet you can only hurt yourself.

And I feel helpless, standing on the sidelines, seeing you cut words of hate on your skin.

And I want to cry, but I can’t.

So I stand by, and watch you.

Scare, and angry, and sad, and hurt, and full of pain…

and numb.

Like you.

If You Only Knew

Copyright, Ericka

If you only knew;
If you only knew the way cutting helps me
how it erases the feeling of being alone,
helps assuage the feeling of guilt of being alive
the feeling of self-hatred.

If you only knew;
If you only knew the terror I faced when I was a kid
of being terrified that I would die
if I didn’t get out alive
of his sneering face telling me I don’t deserve to live

If you only knew;
If you only knew the crushing weight
of him on top of me,
taking away my childhood innocence
but saying that it was only a game, and I deserved the pain.

If you only knew;
If you only knew the way I hate myself
how I can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror
how I can’t stand to hear anything good about me.

You wouldn’t demand I stop cutting.


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