• Madison Welch

Below The Bandage. (TW)

I can’t help but stare at the scars on myself,

my friends… anyone really


tell me what cut you

so deep you believed

cutting yourself would heal it

tell me about your self hate so potent

you had to bleed it out


tell me how you did it

what you used

what time was it

how’d you clean up the blood


I’ll tell you my first love was a boy

who locked me in the bathroom

for the hysterics

of his terror-stricken

butcher knife

self-harm


he told me I was at fault

for the blood dripping

on the tile

staining my mother’s towels


he would say I was the only one

who could stop it

I just needed to love him better


I wrapped him in bandages,

kissed them after

each cut a promise

I didn’t know how to keep


it took me years to learn:

I couldn’t,

those wounds

were never mine to heal


his perception of love

dismembered healthy boundaries

beheaded my sense of reality

and forced me into victim.


(I even have the scars to prove it)

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