July 1 2004 3:23 am "Control" Only a scarred body, Unknown by you, Loved just a little, But never satisified, The deeds I've done, You allowed to go on, Acting so dumb, Fact is you don't care, You enjoy the silence, While I'm screaming, Outside I show the pain, Every mark from innocences, Yet I have none, I only pretend that I do, Cut every time I realize it, I can't tell you anything, Mainly I'm ashamed, Scared you won't believe, Its so hard to trust, Especially in this dying world, Not caring, Just craving little lines, Freedom in scars, I control every mark, Can't cry any longer, I try almost every time, Touched body rotting away, Over-took by anger and rage, Not deserving control, Wrong things that I let happen, Not standing up, I just lay there; helpless, While I'm controlled. I'm letting out all the pain I've experienced. Its good since I really can't cry anymore. I've cried so much and I'm tired of it. I can't continue crying its pointless. When I have so many other things that I could show my pain. Words and cuts turning into scars that I just let go away. Scars fade and tears disappear. Words are forever. And pain is not. As long as I'm still here I can't keep hurting myself b/c of people who don't understand and open their eyes to my pain. I can only speak and write the words that I try to express through my cutting. Every mark doesn't mean anything to anyone but me. I'm speaking to myself through cuts and thats getting me no where. If I could wear words like I do scars everyone would understand but its not possible. Tattooing freedom on my body proves nothing to people. They don't get that me feeling pain I can control is my freedom. Its the only thing I've found to safely express my emotions. I keep everything bottled up until its a problem then I cut it away. No one knows anything of this. No one can fully understand anything from my life and any of my reasons for cutting. Half the time I pretend I don't know why I cut although in the back of my mind I'm screaming all the answers to those questions everyone asks me. I just can't say them out loud. But through my language of poetry I can express them all without anyone really knowing what my secrets are. The only thing that is important is how they all make me feel. Why the feelings are there doesn't matter. While I'm controlled, I'm trying to control my pain through cuts that are taking over my body. Rotting away everything that I am.--