I am crazy,

I have leopard’s skin where freckles used to be,

Burned indelibly by a thousand tortures-

Which my mind has placed on an eternal cycle


I pray that, if I can hurt myself just enough, I won’t fly away,

“Grounding” they call it, but it’s only ever a lottery.

Sometimes “I” fall asleep and someone, who wears my ill-fitting flesh,

Takes over; ruining children’s birthdays, writing on the walls in blood; and telling every secret we ever had.


Sometimes I wake up screaming- she likes to hurt me, far more than I hurt myself-

She burns and slices me as a reminder that she has control.

She only ever seems to spill my blood,

but each time I awake with dried blood all over me

I frantically pat myself down, looking for “safe cuts”,

“Safe” because they only happened to me,

“Safe” regardless of how deep she’s cut me or how fast I bleed.


The greatest tortures have been for my family,

seeing a loved one drowning and not knowing how to save them;

The second greatest casualty was when the world labelled me vulnerable-

I, who have lived and survived seasons in hell.

I, a care-giver; someone with a future;

someone who earned trust and resilience.

I, the safe pair of hands who overcame every odd;

Have now become a baby, a burden, a risk to myself, not to be trusted alone.

And the worst part is that they’re right-                                                    

Every second alone could leave me in danger.

I fear a season in hell can last forever