Bruises Not Scars

My older brother was always the lucky one. He always got whatever he wanted. People loved him. People hated me. This isn't a story about my brother. This is a recollection about what happened to me when I entered the 7th grade in our junior high. It wasn't easy to write. Most the time I had a headache and was barely suppressing tears. It took me a while to write. Not because I'm not good at it. Not because I can't remember correctly. It was because it was hard. Hard to actually come out in the open and actually say it. But I know one thing, one thing I didn't realize until I was actually writing this that you are about to read. I'm not alone in this situation, I never really was. It's just the same kind of people with the same kind of issues aren't lucky people. Like me, there are various other people like me out there. The one's who aren't always so lucky. The one's who are...which is hard to even right the word which I wanted to write three sentences ago, the people like me who are also bullied and harassed in various other different ways.