It's not pretty,

And it's not art,

But it's my masterpiece.

There are no paintbrushes to be seen,

No pencils litter the floor.

You see no artist's tools,

But mine are here, rest assured.

There is no thick paper,

Or canvas on which to draw.

There is no easel set aside,

For my backdrop you cannot buy.

There is only the blade,

And the scars it makes,

Run across my skin.

There is only the hope I fake,

And the secrets hidden within.

So, no, it's not pretty,

And no, it's not art,

But my body is my masterpiece.