The Decision. Poem by Elle McKay

I've decided not to.
It would leave an ugly scar.
I'm already too ugly.
Instead I take the knife-
. I wish it was bigger.
. Like those knives in butcher shops.
. But not for butchering,
. no, never.
. And it isn't that sort of knife so instead, instead
I would yell, but I don't want to attract that sort of attention.
Instead, I grip the wood.
My fingers dig into the metal fixing.
Hard.
My knuckles turn white
My hand pales
My whole arm is
Shaking.
Reach.
Up.
Slightly.

STAB.
Twist, damage is done.
I love it.
So much.
My violence retreats
For the moment.
I breathe.
A face in the mirror
looks back.
No one has ever called me ugly.
I know it's true.
I silently walk back to replace the now feather-covered knife.
I reach another mirror.
Ugly.
Why else would I be
alone?