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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Personal · #2185178
The battle of self harm
I use to be an empty canvas,
Well at least on the outside.
I was free of battle wounds.
I had my moments in life
That were shaping me,
But I was pretty much ordinary.

Through school there were girls
With markings of the tiger.
I never understood why.
Did it cause or relieve pain?

How did these girls receive
The markings of the tiger?
Was it earned by bravery?
Was it strength?

Several years past as my questions grew.
I wanted to understand
What the marks of the tiger meant.
The curiosity killed me.

I slowly started realizing that
These “marks” had a deeper meaning.
It was a form of survival.
A club that once you join
You can never leave.

There are two types of tigers.
The tigers who flaunt their marks,
And the tigers who would rather hide.
These marks are neither a gift nor a curse.
They are apart of a person’s story.

After thinking long and hard,
I decided to join the group of tigers.
My first marking didn’t stick around very long.
It took several months before I decided I wanted another mark.
It eventually turned into my let out.
The thing I turned to.
I became a tiger.

To this day
I am still a tiger.
My marks have stayed.
Most of them I hide,
But things can change.




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