If They Only Knew...

My mother says I never talk,
My friends tell me I'm always sad.
But if I open up and talk, she'd balk,
and if I tell them why I'm sad, they'd get mad.

So what do I do and how do I please
When it seems my blade's all that keeps me off my knees?
People ask how I can stand to wear my sweater in the heat,
unaware that I've turned my arms into a cut up sheet.

I'm told I wear my make up too dark,
but I do it so the circles aren't so stark.
Because I'm too busy crying at night to sleep
thinking, crying...cutting hoping I don't go too deep.

So I'm sorry you don't approve of my poetry,
But I write it because it expresses me.