LITERARY | I Bleed, Therefore I Am

For others, it’s self-harm.
For me, it’s self-soothing—with the taste of blood.

I. Fleshy Fingers

When boredom hits, so does hunger.
I turn into a cannibal—one that feeds on herself.
A slightly grown shard of fingernail,
a dry edge of skin.
I bite. I chew. I swallow.

I am a zombie gnawing my flesh away.
And when my skin finally bleeds,
I become a vampire, drinking what’s left of me.

For a moment, my feast has left me satisfied.
The world softens.
Then the guilt returns;
louder than the hunger that once roared.

BUT I AM NOT A MONSTER.

II. Festering Follicles

When the hunger dulls, the urge to pull begins.
I turn into a maniac—one who can’t resist internal screams.
Hands travel to my eyelashes,
even when there's barely anything left
I pluck. I tug. I pull.

The soft pop as each strand leaves the skin.
People think ‘pain’ should stop me;
instead, I feel relief, like exhaling discomfort.

I twist and twirl the fallen hair around my finger.
The world softens.
Then the mirror catches me;
revealing red eyes, bald gaps, an ugly creature.

BUT I AM NOT A MONSTER.

III. Spoiling Skin

And when the wounds finally dry, I can’t help myself.
I turn into a mummy—slowly decaying my own body.
Scabs, hangnails, healing skin,
all whispering to come undone.
I pick. I scrape. I peel.

I am a raven feeding on what’s left of me.
Crazy it may seem, but it’s the only way I feel safe;
digging for something beneath my dermis.


I examine the damage I’ve caused for one last time.
The world softens.
Then realization hits;
I’m twice as unloveable as I was a moment before.

BUT I AM NOT A MONSTER.

I am a human being;
trying her best to stay sane.
For others, it’s self-harm.
For me, it’s self-soothing—with the taste of blood.
I bleed, therefore I am.