Hurt

I hurt myself, hoping the pain I already have will leave.
I take a needle and slash my arms,
People ask what happened,
I mumble something about my cats,
Or something like I don't know,
But I do.
My close friends know, too,
And it scares them.
They look at me, and they see a girl
Who has good grades in school,
A very sweet 3 year old brother,
And a dad that loves her to death.
They know my mom is cruel,
But they think my dad protects me.
He doesn't, he can't.
He is scared of my mom,
Just like me,
Just like my brother,
Just like my friends.
My friends, they came for my birthday,
Afterward, they were sorry.
My mom scared them.
She didn't do anything mean or wrong,
They could just got bad feelings from her.
They are beginning to see the real me,
Not the one I show them all,
But the one I hide.
The one I wear a mask over,
The one the crys in misery and sadness, and hopelessness.
The one that hides, but wants someone to know,
The one that is scared, and wants no one to know.
I think about this,
And about everything else that has happened,
And I begin to think that slashing my arms is okay, even good.
It doesn't hurt at all, really,
And it's better than trying to deal with the other pain.
And then my friends enter my mind
The looks they give me.
They look at me like I am the most normal personn.
Then they see my arms, and can't understand it.
They don't think I am capable of hurting myself.
They worry about me,
But I keep slashing,
I keep lying,
Because it's better than trying to deal with the other pain.