From the day I was told to mature,
I knew I never would.
I was always going to be the clown.
From the moment I saw what a real friend looked like,
I knew I wasn’t normal.

A few backhanded comments from my dad,
a few whispers across the class.
A couple of days alone,
a few quiet tears shed.

A proud announcement from my parents,
in a house where the loudest voice won.
Top grades meant confidence —
but the smallest drop bred doubt.
“Work harder,” he’d said.
But my head never worked right.

The fear of failure cut deep,
the fear of being left behind deeper still.
Childhood slipped away
before I knew it was mine to lose.
The first dark thought came like a whisper,
dragging me under.

The first glance at a blade —
a promise, a threat, a test.
“Stop overreacting,” I convince myself,
as the floor held what was left of me.

School drained me —
of hunger, of sleep, of care.
Sickness crawled through the cracks
Of the energised bravado.
The blank stare flipped,
and the dead husk became the hyper moth.

I’ve tried to change,
I really have,
No matter what I’m always the over charged pierrot
If i’m not then I don’t know what would happen
I’d stop trying so hard to be
Someone.

The sharpener glared back —
a dull pencil
just needing a little shaping.
Replaying promises I never kept.

October: the month I fell
into a spiral of love
for the one I lived for.
Ask me now my favorite season,
and I’ll always say spring.I

I see myself in characters
I shouldn’t find comfort in.
I’ve changed too much —
from haircut,
to personality cut,
to a deeper kind of cut.

If I were an animal,
I’d be a dog —
hurt me a thousand times
and I’d still come back,
hoping to be held.

I crave touch and love,
In the most innocent way possible.
I just want to feel loved
Rather than a slumped puppet against the wall.

I remember asking myself why start?
Would it hurt?
It began softly —
a few skids,
a small bloom of red.

Now I tell myself: it hurts — that’s the point.
Control is greedy.
The blade dulls,
but the hunger stays.
You can see the trophies.

I’ve gone until the blades grew blunt,
until fire refused to burn.
The devil couldn’t reach me —
so he gave me never enough words
To just explain.

I’ll never forget the seventeenth of December,
the cloudy night before fourteen,
the tied rope
with no place to hang.
Until a text from her —
the one I couldn’t live without,
the spring
at the end of my winter.

I watch silently
as I drive through other people’s childhoods —
bursts of laughter,
easy joy.
Moments I didn’t want to end,
back when I believed
I’d make it past twenty-four.

I tell myself I shouldn’t be so weak
as my throat knots itself in barbed wire
and my eyes flood
at the first raised voice.

I tell the therapists, the counsellors —
but my words sound small, pathetic.
I should grow up.
But I was only thirteen
when I first thought of taking my life bloomed.

Never truthful, eyes and tongue twisted,
With sad lies with a hope for a laugh.
Told to give up in my dreams
I didn’t have a dad, I had a father

Now, when I break,
I think of her —
wish she could wrap her arms around me,
whisper that it’ll be alright.
When I think I’m too much,
when I think I’m not enough,
She reminds me I’m perfect.

Now I stand on the field,
The breeze blowing, freezing the cuts over.
I’ll be stuck under the water, questioning life
Energy drained, even though I’m surviving off energy drinks.

The buds of red will always remind me im human,
Remind me i’m not good enough
Just keep moving forward
Don’t make eye contact.

When i leave the house in the rough winds,
Who will keep the fence up.
Who will turn the lights off,
Who will tell her I loved her
What is going to stop me

When my dogs died,
When Spring stops blooming after every winter.
When I’ve shut down.

When the comments get too much,
When they dig deep enough
What will stop me bleeding out in the snow

Every time it flips around I wonder, when will winter end.
How will it end

Is this finally it.