i’m not like you.
me and you,
we are not the same.

you see a scratch,
i see a reason.
you ask why my arms look like this,
i say,
they’re just scars.

you pass by a razor,
i break it down in my mind.
you see a pocket knife,
i wonder
how sharp,
how deep,
how much.

you live.
i survive.

we are not the same.