My Existence

I sit here,
Where I see not very much.
Yet, I feel their eyes,
I feel the sparks of pain that they feel towards me.
I understand this,
Not that I have a chose.

Maybe sometimes, I am not the bad child,
Maybe it is just their eyes and this subculture telling them that their is good in me,
Maybe I am judged far to early in my existence.

But As If It Matters,
Because I am just a particle, that drifts through the air
I may not be perfect,
But neither is anyone else