A nearly empty marker is an odd thing to build a poem around, and that is where the strength of "Puppy" begins. The subtitle warns readers with a "TW" (trigger warning), and the poem delivers on it. Judging by the imagery, the speaker is facing the urge to self-harm and is choosing a substitute: ink instead of a blade. The clue is the line "either way it's making up for the lost blood." The marker does not remove the pain. It stands in for it. The poem's central idea is the fragile, stubborn act of holding on to control when everything else feels out of control.
The poem has no rhyme and no regular meter. The ten lines are loosely similar in length, which gives the page a steady, almost diary-like look, but the rhythm keeps tripping over itself. The punctuation is casual ("ive," "im"), and nearly everything is lowercase. The one capital letter in the whole poem is the "I" in "I love you," and that phrase sits inside quotation marks. Everything the speaker says about themselves is small and lowercase, while the only capitalised "I" belongs to words that feel borrowed, doubted or ironic. The poem never says who is speaking those words or to whom. The quotation marks suggest the speaker does not quite trust them.
The repeated naming of the object is the most striking sound pattern. "Sharpie," "marker," "pen" and "ink" are shuffled through the first, third and ninth lines, as if the speaker cannot settle on what the thing is called. The poem suggests this is a mind circling something it cannot look at directly, and naming the object is easier than naming the feeling. The same circling shows up in "ive made a decision, i did make a decision." The second clause is not new information. It is the speaker persuading themselves, repeating the line like someone gripping a railing.
The imagery is built on exchanges, where one thing stands in for another. Black ink replaces blood, and the speaker has to "pretend that veins carry this jet black ink." The word "pretend" admits that the swap is imperfect, and black is the wrong colour. The dried-out pen matches the speaker's own state. The marker is "almost dried out," and the day was spent "begging for tears" that would not come. Both are running empty. The poem also leans on taste words, with a "bitter resolve" and a "sour night." The feelings are not abstract here, they are something the speaker has to swallow. The "gasping for my breath" adds a physical symptom, which suggests the night was spent in panic.
The title, "Puppy," is never explained. It could be a pet name, a nickname or something private, and the text does not say. Whatever it refers to, the tenderness of the word clashes with the grim subject matter, and that clash is part of the poem's unsettling effect.
The last line may be the most revealing: "i will let this be enough, im still in control." The verb "let" makes it sound like a negotiation, with the speaker giving themselves permission to stop at ink. And "still" implies that control is under threat. The line sounds like both a promise and a question. It does not claim that things are fine, only that this much is enough for tonight.
That honesty is what makes the poem significant. It does not glamorise self-harm, and it does not offer a neat recovery story either. It shows a small, practical act of restraint, a pen used as a boundary, and it lets that act look both clumsy and brave. For a young reader, the poem is a reminder that coping often looks unremarkable from the outside: a marker, a decision made twice, a night survived. If a poem like this feels close to home, it is worth telling a trusted adult or a school counsellor. Moments like these are easier to get through with someone else in the room.