You may call them bracelets, but of these I've changed the name
Because they do not brace me, they just hide the shame.
They cover up until my elbows, shading the games I've played
With razorblades and pocket knives
Ripping through my skin.
You may call them bracelets, but what do they brace?
They are supposed to be for decoration,
I utilized them instead,
For holding notes, and razors, for hiding remnants of nights
when I bled.
Why do they call them bracelets?
I call them wristlets instead.
They cover me instinctively hiding blood and scars
They are the only things that hug me
And they cover up the cuts I let
instead of tears that have been shed.
You may call the bracelets
But to me they are wristlets.
Letting me hide my past that is written so blurry
into my wrists.
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Comments: 4
I appreciate and admire the honesty of your poetry.