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I burnt stories into the curves of my hips,
Carved valleys into the spaces between my ribs,
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I plunged pens into the hallow of my breasts,
Thinking this time might be different...
But the words fell from my mouth onto the page
And lost their meaning somewhere in between

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My recovery from self harm and depression has been long and difficult. Writing has gotten me through so much of it and without poetry I don't know where I would be.