Romans & histoires Self Harm Poems Short

I asked him with a disappointed tone, " What's all this? Did you burn yourself willingly? He smiled and said, " Didn't I tell you that I want to feel your every pain? Maybe what you have faced is horrible. I may not completely feel your every pain. But, I am really sorry for everything". This man has become insane. He is self-harming him. I am feeling disturbed by seeing all this. I said, " Please, stop all this. You don't have to do all this. I can't see all this. I don't want anyone to be physically harmed because of me".

The voice says. "Yeah... wait, you are me. What the fuck is happening? I just spent the last 10 minutes talking to you.. no me. Myself. Argh, kill me please." "Well you've gotten used to it. Stick to the demon you know, yeah?" "I guess." I feel overwhelmed. All these problems are just piling up, I need to write. I get out my book to resume my poem. "I need just one word... just one." "Do you have any ideas?" I ask myself.

she started dressing my wound I didn't said anything after that I went back to my room but her words are still rotating in my head why no one till today said to me iam wrong is it because they are scared of me am I really beast but who cares what iam how iam and why iam like this did anyone cared about me till today did anyone cared how iam being till today no one cared but everyone judges me why what did I do can anyone say why iam like this all I want to do right now is cry and scream and let it all out because its killing me inside ""the night turns into the day the day then turns to night but my life never turns to bright from darkness there is not a single thing to do everything looks o

" I could feel my voice break. The stranger beside me for the first time just kept silent "Why can't I ever be loved? I could just lie here and say it's okay but it isn't. I try so hard. So fucking not to place myself in these situations but I end up doing the same mistakes over and over again I let them hurt me over and over again. Fuck, I told myself never to let this happen again but here I am. Trying to drown myself in a glass of fucking alcohol I'm so pitiful. I'm so fucking pitiful right now and nobody will ever care about me.

TW: Self Harm. I pulled myself away from the gruesome memory, my chest heaving fast and hard. As I took in a deep breath, my phone dropped to the floor with a thud. The rage. The pain. All too unbearable for me to manage. I needed a distraction. Some sort of pain to dull the one that was already ripping at my insides like a chicken being violently shredded with a fork. And so, I did the one thing that would help bring me back to my senses for a moment, at least. I reached for the glass cup beside me and squeezed it until it shattered, the tiny bits of it cutting sharply into my palms.

The poem is titled 'SPEAK TO YOURSELF' and it reads thus. ******************************************************* How often do you converse with yourself? How often do you speak to yourself? How often do you listen to yourself when no one is speaking? How often do you minister to yourself? How often do you truly embrace yourself, your pain, your flaws, your truth, your fears... SPEAK TO YOURSELF Say to yourself.... "Though I am shattered and bereaved and I might wither with the wind but like seeds, I can sprout out of the ground, new and better. "

I felt numb and detached from my surroundings, lost in a sea of self-pity and despair. Tears streamed down my face as I tried to recall the events that led me to this point. I remembered feeling overwhelmed by the stress of my life, the weight of responsibilities and expectations crushing me . I felt alone, abandoned by those I loved and unable to find solace in the world around me. My mind was consumed by thoughts of self-harm, and I had reached for anything within reach to try and hurt myself. The sharp edges of a broken glass, the metal of a razor blade, anything to feel the physical pain that would somehow ease the emotional agony that I had been experiencing.

I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been Oh Oooh The way that things have been Oh Oooh Second things second, Don't you tell me what you thing that I can be I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea Oh Oooh The master of my sea Oh Oooh I was broken from a young age Taking my soul into the masses Writing my poems for the few That look at me, Took at me, Shook at me, Feel at me Singing from heart ache to the pain Taking my message from the pain Speaking my lessons from the brain Seeing the beauty through love .................................... "Mother, please! I didn't want to hurt her! I didn't cut her!" A little girl 8-year-old little girl cried, her eyes begging for

My heart started to beat fast in my chest. How many times had she seen us at our worst? How much had we hurt her without even realizing it? Feeling overwhelmed, I turned to the next page and found a short poem scribbled in her neat handwriting. It was about stars, rivers, and memories. Reading her words, I felt a sense of peace and calm wash over me. It was as if Val was speaking to me through her poetry, reminding me of the beauty and wonder of life.

Henry*** The world shatters around me, a cacophony of destruction that echoes through my bones. Everything I’ve ever known is crumbling, slipping through my fingers like sand, and the storm inside me rages with an intensity I can’t control. I am its eye, the center of this chaos, and yet I am powerless to stop it. The darkness surrounds me, pulls at my insides, and all I can do is endure its cold, suffocating grip. The man I was… I can barely remember him. Only fragments remain, scattered like broken glass, and the creature I’ve become is all that’s left.