Sleeves

As many of you know, poems aren't really my thing. I've written one other poem that you can find after clicking on my profile. It's titled "An Ocean of Emotion."

I typically stick to just blog posts because I have trouble forming poems, and well, I prefer writing blogs over poetry. Nonetheless, every once in a while, an idea for a poem hits me out of nowhere. When the first stanza pops into my head, there's no stopping me. A cluster of stanzas and how I want to write the poem come at me all at once, and I have no choice but to just get it down on paper.

This poem that I wrote is titled "Sleeves," and after reading the first few lines, you'll know why. This poem is very different from "An Ocean Of Emotion." "Sleeves" is far more personal and was much harder to write. In this poem, I talk less about depression and anxiety, and more about my struggles with self-harm.

Most of my blogs have to do with my chronic battle with depression and suicidality, but I've never really talked about my struggles with self-harm. In fact, it's something that I've tried to hide as much as I can for many years now. So before I get too carried away with this introduction, let me show you this poem I wrote just a few nights ago.

Sleeves

I bet you’ll never guess what’s buried beneath my sleeves.

If you saw my naked wrist, what would you see?

Would you see a story engraved on my arm

From the many years of self-harm?

Or a tattoo that reads “fighter”

To remind me to stay strong through every all-nighter?

Under my sleeves, you’ll see scars that read like a road map

My destination unknown and bags still left to pack.

I wear my heart on my sleeves

so that people can see

My strengths come from my heart

and writing about my struggles is my form of art.

So what would you see if I rolled up my sleeves?

Scars to hide and maps to read?

Or would you see a girl who felt she had to live a secret life

to try to mend her heart with a meaningless knife?

I don’t take pride in the things I’ve done

but maybe the purpose of sharing my story is to inspire someone.

And don’t think that I’m healed

just because my scars are sealed.

I will never be proud of the things I’ve done to try to kill my pain

like taking a knife to a bright blue vein.

If I roll up my sleeves to show you my scars

would you run away somewhere afar?

You see, I fight like hell every day

to do my best to keep these urges away.

So, will you hold my hand and say, “Abbey,

I will always be here whenever you need me.”

Or will you flee the scene

because these scars are just too painful to see?

Whatever you choose to do, I will continue to fight these battles

for my strength is no longer something that can be rattled.

This poem was very difficult for me to write, and even more difficult for me to find the courage to post. So, thank you to everyone who has helped me along this journey with self-harm for never giving up on me, and for giving me the courage to write and share this piece. I love and appreciate you all so much!

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