The Damaged Angel

Content Warning: This poem contains violent imagery that some readers may interpret as self-harm.

This poem explores identity and how living life can cause damage and change who we are. It is not about self-harm, but an abstract expression of expectation, pressure, and endurance.

When I struggle, I turn to words—not harm—to search for understanding. This piece reflects the contrast between what I felt was expected of me (grace, strength, stability) and what life often delivered instead.

Writing about pain and struggle is not dangerous. Feeling alone with pain is.

Slit my throat slowly

    and call me an Angel

Watch crimson despair and hate on the table.

Try to move,

    To fight,

        I'm unable

breathless, speechless, unwilling

        but faithful

Bind my wrists tightly

        and call me your Angel.

Kicking and screaming

            I am always unstable

Damaged, broken, impure

            but still able.

Wings of shadow and grey

        I'm no Angel.

Post Script:
This poem comes from a place of reflection, not harm. If parts of it felt familiar or difficult, please know you are not alone—and you don’t have to sit with those feelings by yourself. Be kind to yourself and guard yourself well.
- Love S.