"She Has Scars Under Her Sleeves"
I was born. That's how it always starts. Being born. Because of that, you live. And if you live long enough, you start thinking. That got me in trouble. I thought too much. I left. Life became hard. No more living, just surviving. Everything I thought I knew was gone. That ended two years ago. When I was adopted. Me, a child, not a baby, adopted. Rare. So I went. I lived. I got used to it. No more surviving, just living. But then, things changed again. I lost my voice. I can't talk. At all. Since then, people treat me different. Like I'm odd. They hurt me. Because they know they can. Hurt me in lots of ways. So I started cutting. I knew what to do some how. I just knew. It hurt the first time. But I did it. Again and again. It hurt so much, but it felt good. I still do when I hurt inside or out. It makes the worse hurt to away.