It’s a sad day when your friends turn on you. Your parents don’t know who you are…truly.
No matter how hard you try to tell everyone that you need to be alone, they seem to take such bitter offense. They scorn you for being “weird” or “not normal” because in their eyes you’re a silent failure.
No one seems to hear you crying, screaming, and pleading. To them, you just seem “freakish” and let’s face it, nobody wants to be the freak.
I hate how they shake their heads, thinking you just don’t care. It’s actually quite different from that…I do care; you just don’t seem to see past the smile plastered onto my face.
Oh, it’s just a phase. They’ll grow out of it and be the little darling we always loved. Sweetie, that’s not how it goes. If you can’t see the pain in my eyes, the darkness eating away at my soul, then you obviously don’t seem to care much for anyone but yourself.
They say poetry is a teenager’s way of venting the dark feelings as they make the transition to adulthood. I see some miniscule truth to that dandy little fact, although I kind of think it’s a bunch of BS.
Five dollars say you think I’m mental. “This person can’t be right in the noggin!” or my personal favorite, “Somebody throw this monster into a psyche ward before they poison society’s youth!!” Oh dear, like that hasn’t already happened.
Dearest reader, life isn’t all fun and games. You may think you’re not touched by anything or anyone, but truth be told not even you can deny you’ve felt it. At one point in your “fun” life somebody or something made you sink into the dark cavern of your mind. You went around thinking maybe if I smile and nod they’ll never know how I hurt on the inside. Dude, have you got it wrong. It will always hurt, festering like a wound that just won’t heal until…boom.
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