An Open Letter to a Cutter-Parts I and Ii

An Open Letter To A Cutter...parts I and II

Part I

I cut teeth as a baby, 
I cut class in school, 
I didn't make the 
cut for football, 
I cut farts a lot, 
as a kid, big long rips, 
I got cut once or twice 
in the Marines, 
I cut an umbilical cord 
on a baby I delivered, 
I cut the leash off a 
drowning puppy in an icy lake,
while the mother tried 
to slash my throat with her teeth,
A good friend cut my wrist 
when we were box-cutting at work, 
I bled like a stuck pig, 
and squirted it at the police officer 
when he pulled us over 
on the way to the E.R.....

He cut in front of us 
sirens blaring 

the rest of the way.
I cut my mamas hair ....
a small lock just 

before they cremated her,
I cut off my sister 
who has 13 kids 

and always wanted a handout 
and then abuses me 

when it isn't enough, 
I cut down on smoking 
and then quit,
I cut off a sweater 
I was wearing that caught fire,
I stood on a high bridge 
and thought about jumping
over some stupid girl 

who had left me, 
then I cut and ran from there 
leaving death behind
I cut in a few lines 
and got primo seats,
I cut some coke in my time 
but realized it was 

snot fun anymore,
I've cut my fair share of cards, 
and big piles of cash,
I've kissed the cuts of 
little ones and made them better,

"I wish I could do that for you
...cause I've never cut myself, 
but I've gone to get some who did..."

One boy in the Marines 
swallowed eight razor blades 

just to get out of boot camp.
he broke 'em in half,

and swallowed them 

but he lived............. 
of course he wrecked 

his stomach and his diet 

for a long time.


But you know.... 
if I had cut myself 

bad enough
I might never 

have been able 
to think back now 

on all the joy and love,
lust and sheer pleasure, 

thrills and chills
and pain and sorrow 

that made me stronger.

Things I might have missed 
for the split second 

joy of slicing my flesh.
and I am so glad that I left 
any cutting scars 

out of my memory.
maybe it's time 

you cut it out 
and started to live...
before God calls 

out the end 
of your next 

hack scene 

with a loud...."Cut.!!......."


Part II

Slash a gash 
till you look 
like a road map.

Numerous red lines
crisscrossing white flesh, 
each a highway to 
alleviate depression.

Scars are the cliff notes, 
from your book of sorrows.

It is where you 
jumped off reality.

Does it really get 
the attention you crave?

Why not just slash your face?
Then you'll really get noticed.

No more hiding 
the marks of your despair, 
under long sleeves,
show the world 
that you can cut it
but only if you do, 
cut it that is.

But don't cut to deep,
there's an artery 
or vein in there 
with your name on it.

Most lovers prefer 
their partners unmarked,
there is something unsettling
about caressing skin 
that feels like a screen door,
which makes for a good exit line.

Find a dart board
and post your picture on it, 
then whale away with sharp points,
till you can't see 
yourself whole anymore.

Enlarge an inter-net picture
of yourself, life size,
mount it on some plasterboard,
over some Hollywood stage blood bags, 
and slash your pseudo self,
into a bloodspattered frenzy.

There are much better 
solutions then blood,
Know that as a poet, 
I love you, and understand 
angst and despair.

I have slashed 
over 4,000 times
with a pen, a pencil, 
some keys,
and let my poems 
bleed my feelings,
No scars, just 
lines of comfort.
My fingers can cut 
what I don't like, 
erase what is unsightly,
and let others notice me.

Try a new form of cutting,
cut me down for this poem,
take a slice of my heart,
at least it will 
keep your hands busy,
and you won't have time 
to be cutting yourself down.

Cut out this poem
and put it next 
to your knife,
your razor, 
your band-aids
your downfall, 
then read it 
before you play
Tic-tack- doe-doe, 
on your flesh again.

Sincerly ~~~MFB III-.ArtWhimsically Yours Studio