At the dining table,I swallowed food whole.
Only the clammering of my steel spoon against the porcelain plate.
My brother spoke nonsense,
My mother in the kitchen,ginding spices.
I finished my plate and went ypstairs,
Went to the basin to wash my mouth,
I threw up all my dinner.
The stinking smell of bile spread quickly.
I cleaned the basin,and washed my feet.
Locked the gate,
With wet feet walked back to my room,
Behind me,the door was shut.
I opened the knot of my hair,
Removed the ring from my finger,
Took cotton and spirit
And started to scrub off the chipped off nailpolish violently.
I let the spirit bottlr fall,
I got down from the bed,threw out,
The broken pieces of glass.
I got up on the bed,
Dug my head into the pillow,
I tok a thick rope from the corner of my room,
And tied ot round my ankles,
Hard enough,until it had distinctly marked my skin,
I hit myself,
Twisted my legs around my head,I bit my arms.
I knew downstairs lights were off,
Everyone in their bed,even me
I climbed down my bed,
I tookthe blade,and banged the drawer close.
I threw it down,
And pulled down my books.
I tore newspapers and shuffed them into my mouth,
I chewed them and threw them out,
Walked round the room till I was tired
Enough to sit down,
I sat for a long time.
Then I rose,I had grown quiet,
I took the blade and removed the cover.
I breathed in deep,
Ruled by my nerves..
Pulled up my dress,
I looked out of the window,
Into the glimmering factory lights.
I slashed my thigh,
It tinkled at first,the cut grew hot,
Then blood bloomed…
More blood_____i took a drop
On my index finger,
Then I was shrieking again.
I ran the blade.
Muffled yellings,I was drinking in the pain.
I yanked my diary from the shelf,
Brushed its pages against my wound.
I lay awake,
I could now hear my mother in the kitchen,
It was morning,I looked out of the window,
Lay in my bed.
My mother came up.
Knocked at my door,asking me to get ready for school.
I knew she was gone then,
I got down,and arranged my room.
Took my clothes,
Walked to the bathroom,
I washed,the wounds stung.
I wore my dress,
Combed and braided my hair,
Packed my bag,
Pulled my socks,covering my ankles.
I went down to wake up my brother,
Had my breakfast,
Bid my mother good bye
And left for school.
Am different from others.
No one knows,what I do on most nights,
Not even my mother,
The lady I was born from.
I,I want to be a pshycotherapist.
[it potrays the pain of a girl name Fezlina,who hasw a sound mind enough to realize that her internal desires to shriek,panic,harm heself without reason is not natural.it is what people call madness,but she is afraid to be called so..
So she hides it all the way,she is afraid to express,it is this pain she carries through the day,pain she endures in suppressing herself before others]