Sunday, June 13, 2010



The one time I changed in front of my classmates, they saw the lines and lines up and down crisscross my legs and arms. They didn't like my skin. They didn't like me anymore.
Now I am me, and they are them.
We're separate.
It was one of those silent promises they made when disgust burned in their eyes upon seeing me.

So it's my fault when I eat lunch alone, my fault when I do projects on my own, my fault when I have no plans on a Friday night, my fault when I sit on the bleachers in gym class, my fault when I'm alone.

The one time I changed in front of my class, I was thrown out of the pack.
Alienated. Disowned.

And four months in, it starts to get lonely.
It seems all I have are my crisscross legs to keep me company, but even they don't like me.

I scratchtearrip every day during class, sitting in the very back.
And no one seems to notice the razor blade in my hand.
No one seems to notice the blood through my sweater, through my shoes, through my shirt.

No one notices me anymore, because in their worlds, I'm not allowed to exist.

I am a ghost.
An alien.
I have bulgy green eyes and grey skin.
I am too thin, too red, and too light.

But it's FINE, because I don't deserve any better.

It's fine, because I hate myself just as much as they do.

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