one day i began to think

flat line

i looked at the lines across my wrist. i go back to the night the first were made known. i think about it a lot now.

i think of how i tried to cover them up with paint, with my sleeves, with anything really.. and how embarrassing i thought they were.

i remember the redness of the fresh wounds and how they burned when they rubbed up against my sweaters at school.

i remember watching my mom cry when she found the blade, and she had to talk to other adults to help, when she sat with me in the kitchen as she begged me to never do it again while she gently held my clawed arm.

i look at the scars now, faint, but when i look for them they still exist but they don't scare me now..

i think of how many other people were able to notice them when i wear shorts sleeves or when they held my hand.

i think of when i've told people who i thought were close to me.. and i wonder what they do now with that information.

i know that back then.. on that night, i was saved..

i know that i won't have that happen again..

i'm considering these lines that once would haunt and embarrass me..

i'm imaging a second outcome..

one only with these lines to describe what happened to me.