I Express Myself Through Writing

Another cut
And I keep twisting .
Why do they hurt?
There is a monster waiting for my twisted body to break
I see a vague memory of a little girl with blue eyes like the sky
Crying
Angels are so easy to hurt.
The scars keep twisting and getting harder
Yet I am still beautiful.
I do not hurt or use my own as an excuse to
But he holds his hand over my face
Fight again
He whispers
I’ll sew up the cuts...