Scratch paper veins

It was somewhere between my first and my last day of school that I discovered the veins in my wrist weren’t for playing hop scotch

That the color blue didn’t always mean sad

and sometimes when my wrists turned red it wasn’t a sign of weakness.

but only when it came as a last resort
It seems we lost ourselves in the midst of playing hide and go seek

when instead of being found we turned all of our flaws into metaphors and sang songs that only made sense when we were dancing

Or pretending we knew how to dance
Because maybe if we pretend for long enough we’d learn

And that’s when we’d finally be free

and I wouldn’t have to keep cutting the strings on my wrist loose like ropes

because I won’t be tied down by my own insecurities

But that’s unrealistic

I’ve never been good at pretending

And no matter how hard I dance the songs never make sense

They say It’s all about fitting in and I’ve always fit in small spaces but I never pick the ones that people like

They say it’s all about standing out and I’m different then them but not the kind of different that humanity thrives on
I’ve learned that life doesn’t play by the rules and I hope one day it kicks you like it kicked me

not because you deserve to be hurt but because you deserve to be heard

and no ones going to listen to someone whose never seen darkness between the finger tips of light
I missed my shot of never letting life break me the second my tongue spelled suicide without a second opinion from my mind

So I hope you learn from my mistakes and never let a flaw go un touched before you pretend it’s just a metaphor

and I hope If nothing else

you’ve learned that your wrists aren’t scratch paper

and they’re much prettier without the scars