Poem about self harm

I knew a boy who liked to draw,
He drew pictures that nobody saw.

He was most artistic late at night,
In the bathroom, out of sight.

He didn't tell a soul and his gallery grew.

His drawings were different, no paper and pen,
But needed a bandage now and then.

We stood by the river under the stars,
He rolled up his sleeves and showed me his scars.

He felt embarrassed and looked at at his shoe,
Then I rolled up my sleeves and whispered "I draw too."

-Anonymous (I don't know who wrote it)