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Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Scar Constellations By Carl Wade Thompson

My name is Carl Wade Thompson, and I am poet who has bipolar disorder. I have written a poem about how some patients cut in order to relieve stress and anxiety. In the past, I myself would cause self injury by tearing the nails and cuticles off my fingers, so I can kind of understand the feeling of control that comes with the act. I would like so submit the poem "Scar Constellations" for consideration at your journal. Any feedback would be appreciated. I thank you for your time.

Scar Constellations

My life is not my own.
Control—a made up word.
Everyone else has it,
I give it all to them.
Teachers, parents, bullies,
I’m chained to their demands.
Never do I have a choice,
all my thoughts in their hands.
Try as I might to escape,
there is no airshaft in this cave.
Numb—my body is wood.
A mannequin, I pretend to breathe.
When things get too heavy,
the world closing in as I recede,
I take my razor out to play,
make the numbness go away.
Just small cuts, not to big,
no need for stitches, just band aids.
Cutting lines, I see my blood,
Hidden in sleeves and pants legs.
No one can see the scars,
keep them covered every day.
Sometimes I trace the lines,
think of stars shining in the night.
They are maps of my pain,
a release from despair.
Someday, I’ll put on display,
when my life is my own.
That hope quickly fades,

as I cut some more-Relief!

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