Prize Poetry

A Book

by young woman, age 16

I sit on this bed and I open this book, it pulls me from this world, into one where the breakups don’t matter. Pain does not demand to be felt.

A book is like my life line. In this mental hospital it keeps me sane, if that is even possible.

A world where anything is possible, the words on the page mean something more to me. In this world scars aren’t ugly, they are a work of art. Hurt does not exist; it dulls down to a numbing throb.

In this world I do not have to cut to feel alive, because not even this world can take away the knife that lies inside of me, cutting with every breath.