Poem About My Relationship With My Cuts/scars

[The Awkward Artist]

I wrote this poem a few weeks ago, and I kind of wanted to share it. It's kind of sick and twisted, but I like it. It's about a side effect of my SI'ing. Not saying I SI to have this happen, it just happens. Lemme know what you guys think?

Beautiful

Some people tell me I’m pretty.
But I don’t believe them.
No not yet, not now. Not until I paint.

Once I get home,
I run and fetch my supplies.
I’m on my way to believing.

The canvas as natural to me as skin on a body.
Pure, untainted, beautiful,
Until the brush paints it.

The brush is to me as a knife to a chef.
Necessary, sharp, clean,
Until covered in paint.

The paint is as fluid as blood.
Bright, red, flowing,
Until air dries it.

The painting looks like train tracks meeting.
Criss-crossing, intersecting, chaotic,
Until abandoned.

But there’s a twist.
The canvas is not as it seems.
Nor the brush or paint.

My beautiful canvas is my skin,
My sharp brush a razor.
My flashy paint my own blood.

I look at my creation.
Telling, passionate, and grim.
To me, it’s a masterpiece.

But while it’s gorgeous, it’s also
Ugly, gory, pitiful.
It makes me feel

Like I’m weak.
But mostly, when I look at it afterwards,
I feel beautiful.

[jayyy-lmao]

I like it. It is, as you said, kind of twisted, but really, all of us here are twisted or broken in some way.
It expresses how I think some people, not just you, would feel about cutting and SI. It's different, where most people would write poems about cutting and SI on the hate of it, you wrote of the way it makes you feel good, and that is what makes it addictive.