To you, the freak
Stop. Just stop it. The stares, the blank look in your eyes, the way you speak in monotone. Please, just stop. You’re singling yourself out, and you don’t need to. I’m being nice here, just, please try. If not for me, then for whoever else is important to you. Ignore the cruel words, the hateful looks, and try.
I’m not asking you to change.
But to try.
-Someone who cares.
{Found patiently waiting in Texas’ locker, between third and fourth period. Written on the back of a biro drawing of a rose.}
YOU ARE READING
perfect flaws.
ChickLit{completed.} In which four misguided teens struggle to find steady ground of which to be themselves. Told through letters, phone-calls, text messages, facebook inboxes and some narrative. © 2013 imogen timby.
