My name is Isabella, I'm 13, I have a dog named Max. I miss when the
world was so happy, when kids could proudly say, I love myself. I
miss when the war was gone, I miss the old me. I used to be happy,
but then i started to Self Injure..IT IS NOT "EMO" because "emo" is a
stereotype! I just want to tell everyone that if you are thinking
about SI don't please because it traps you like a fly in a venus fly
trap. I'm not telling you to stop im just saying you shouldn't start.
If i told you to stop i would be a moron because i still do it, it
isn't  a way of killing myself, in fact it is the only way i
survive....




i often miss this little girl whose dreams had no barriers who
believed in a world where anything is possible with a heart that was
full and unbroken..

behind this smile is everything you cant understand

im tired of hurting

im everything that i hate

i want to show what i feel but i cant...because it isnt as perfect as
every body else's.it isnt perfect at all..

every tear tells a  story

I wear my scars proudly.
They represent the battles through which I have gone,
And I am proud because
those battles I have won.” 

“Self-injury is a sign of distress not madness. We should be
congratulated on having found a way of surviving.” 

I'll draw you a picture,
I'll draw it with a twist,
I'll draw it with a razorblade,
I'll draw it on my wrist.
And if I draw it correctly,
a red fountain will appear...
to wash away my sorrows,
to chase away my fears.” 

“Some kids are so depressed at home and with how people treat them
in school that they cut themselves. This happens all over the world
-- kids who don't want to kill themselves, but nobody understands how
much they hurt, so they cut.” 

“How will you know I am hurting,
If you cannot see my pain?
To wear it on my body
Tells what words cannot explain.” 


(all of these increasing scars
have become my prison bars

“biting keeps your words at bay
tending to the sores that stay
happiness is just a gash away
when i open a familiar scar
pain goes shooting like a star
comfort hasn't failed to follow so far...

and you might say it's self-indulgent
you might say its self-destructive
but, you see, it's more productive
than if i were to be healthy

& pens and penknives take the blame
crane my neck & scratch my name
but the ugly marks
are worth the momentary gain...
when i jab a sharpened object in
choirs of angels seem to sing
hymns of hate in memorandum

and you might say it's self-indulgent
and you might say it's self-destructive
but, you see, it's more productive
than if i were to be happy

and sappy songs about sex and cheating
bland accounts of two lovers meeting
make me want to give mankind a beating

and you might say it's self-destructive
but, you see, i'd kick the bucket
sixty times before i'd kick the habit

and as the skin rips off i cherish the revolting thought
that even if i quit
there's not a chance in hell i'd stop
and anyone can see the signs
mittens in the summertime
thank you for your pity, you are too kind

and you might say its self-inflicted
but you see that's contradictive
why on earth would anyone practice self destruction?

and pain opinions are sitcom feeding
they dont know that their minds are teething
makes me want to give mankind a beating

i'm tried bandages and sinking
i've tried gloves and even thinking
i've tried vaseline
i've tried everything
and no-one cares if your back is bleeding
they're concerned with their hair receding
looking back it was all maltreating
every thought that occurred misleading

makes me want to give myself a beating....” 


“Self-mutilation is a very different issue to suicide. It is a
controlled pain personal to you, allowing you to live/exist to some
degree.” 

“I know what it's like to want to die. How it hurts to smile. How
you try to fit in but you can't. How you hurt yourself on the outside
to try to kill the thing on the inside.” 

To cry is to cleanse. To release the burdens of the day. To let them
flow from your body. To collapse inside of yourself. To break down
the walls built up so long. Oh I long to sob. A deep loneliness fills
my being as I scramble around trying to find the tears to cry. But
none come, and instead hate and anger fill the queue. But hate and
anger are hardly cleansing. Mistakes gone unpunished are engraved
into my mind, and there is no other way to get them out but to emboss
them upon myself. It is an art. Finding just the right place and
amount of pressure needed to impress the image upon something
tangible. Recently it has been more accidental and instinctual rather
than purposeful, though occasionally I have had to force myself to
take it out on a white piece of paper with an angry red pen. It used
to scare me, the things I could create as a result of my mistakes and
shame. My creations seemed more destructive since they were the
product of pain, rather than beauty. But then I realised how
beautiful pain is. To create something means to feel emotions, and
feeling emotions is the definition of human pain. And so even though
the water does not run from my eyes, the liquid drips from the wounds
in my heart. And though in the end, tears are wiped away easily, and
it is almost effortless to excuse them, my imprints are the essence
of what I feel, and on my body they shall stay.” 

Ask me where does Jesus lay,
On the edge of a razor blade.
And no, I’m not the anti-Christ
Even though I swear it’s right
That dreams lie where blood drips slow
Caressing freedom I feel it flow
My crudely distorted angry bliss
From life with death I choose to kiss

So where is your God?
Let me ask you this.
In times like these
With butchered wrists we miss.

Dearest soul mate-
You don't know me yet but you will, I'll explain a bit about how. One
day you're going to wake up feeling sad, and you are going to be sad
all day, and the next day you will feel sadder still.
Then out of nowhere you want to cry all the time and all these issues
about your self appearance and personality will become an obsession.
You will sit in your room all night and want to hide away and the
world will be the scariest place around.
You will have 2 paths to choose from at this point, they will be a)
tell someone how bad you feel and that you don't know why b) keep it
inside, you don't know why you feel sad so you wont be able to talk
it over with anyone. 
You chose? You guessed it path b, and you will follow this path, its
a bumpy one and your soul will be shredded along the way. Then I come
in and befriend you. I take over your mind, I make you want to die, I
make you hate yourself more than ever, and I control your life. 
I tell you not to eat and if u do eat I punish you by telling you
what a fatty you are. You feel tired, but I don't let you sleep at
night, I make you lay awake while I tell you what a worthless person
you are, and make you realize this world isn't easy. I tell you how
bad it is to tell someone and swear you to secrecy. 
I make you lie for me, when people ask you "Are you okay?" I make you
say "Yes I'm fine thanks", when people ask you "What's wrong?" I make
you say, "Nothing I'm just tired". I play with your mind, so it works
all day, over-analyzing your surroundings, making everything scary and
bad. 
Then one day, I will have been running your life for about a year
now, I make you cut yourself, I make you punish yourself for being so
useless and selfish. 
Then the day will come when we fall out and you want me to leave. But
I refuse so you try to make me leave, you cry, you cut you scream and
you shout, but I sit back and watch you fall further and further into
my control. 
Then one day you fight back, well you try, you try to get rid of me
once and for all, you lock yourself away, alone in a room, you take a
sharp blade to your arms just how I showed you to. I will shout at you
to stop, but you don't listen, you cut deep, really deep, then you
take some pills, lots of pills. Then you will lay down on your bed
and let the cocktail and loss of blood work its means, then as you
slip away, I slip out, to find another fresh new soul to destroy. 
I will stand by and watch you die, then 15 minutes later I watch your
family come home and your mother find you dead, she will cry with
pain, all your family and friends will. And I will stand by laughing
and smiling because, you may have escaped me but I won the battle,
because you aren't living without me, your not living at all. You
give into my powers and do what I set out to do, hurt everyone around
you so they don't think of you the same. All because you took path b,
I won my fiend, thank you for letting me live,
Love always-
Depression 

cut your face
to escape your mind 
cut your neck
to feel alright
cut your shoulder
to better understand
cut your arm
to end your mental fight
cut your hand
to smile again
cut your fingers
to forget the past
cut your chest
to recover yourself
cut your stomach
to end pain which seems to last
cut your hip
to forgive yourself
cut your thigh
so imperfect, you feel
cut your leg
draw attention to something else
cut your foot
to come back to whats real
cut yourself
so you bleed and bleed
let out the pain
that which your mind seems to feed
tormented and lonely
a lost little girl
all she wanted was a hug
and someone to love her

For Children Who Were Broken
it is very hard to mend......
Our pain was rarely spoken
and we hid the truth from friends.
Our parents said they loved us,
but they didn't act that way.
They broke our hearts
and stole our worth,
with the things that they would say.
We wanted them to love us.
We didn't know what we did
to make them yell at us
and hit us,
and wish we weren't their kid.

They'd beat us up and scream at us
and blame us for their lives.
Then they'd hold us close inside the