Confessions of a Cutter
Marchell Dyon Jefferson


I am made to feel like crap,
But I stay mute, I wait until,
The house is shatter into silence,
Then I take all that was said out on my skin.
Hot tears fall as I work through my fatty flesh.
To mend the places where the patchwork
Of the nuclear family has turned into threads.
 
I see my body as an unfinished work.
A human quilt unraveled,
I pull at this canvas with a sewing needle.
As I watch myself bleed,
As I cry deep inside myself for sweet relief

 I spend half my nights cutting,
Half my days finding ways to cover up scars