Ugly Duckling

The cool blade of the razor felt good against my skin as I shaved the hair off of my spider-like legs and arms.

But it felt even better cutting into the creamy flesh along my forearms and wrists.

The pain was nearly undescribable
soothing calming beautiful

And the blood that flowed in rivers across my skin, almost like the tears caressing my cheeks made the sensation even better.

The open wounds burned as I bandaged them with anything big enough to fit the widest of gashes.

Maxi pads covered my biceps, bandaids around my wrists. Whatever it took to hide the evidence from my family.

The sliced flesh stung
burned hurt made me feel better

But anything was better then seeing the look on my mother's face if she just so happened to see the fresh cuts and old scars covering my arms, legs, stomach and feet.

Anything.

No one knew. No one knew that every single day, I hurt myself in order to feel a pain that gave me a final sense of reality.

If they knew?

My mother would cry.

My step-father would avoid me even more then before.

My step-sister would tell everyone.

And if my father knew
my guardian my protector that freak

It would go like this:

Did I make you hurt yourself, sweetie?
No, Daddy. You made me ugly.