I remember when I was young,
and I had no friends,
well, none but one.
I was home-schooled, so
Every day I would wander across the street,
making sure I looked both ways before I crossed.
I rang the door bell once, but if no one answered within five seconds,
I didn't hesitate to ring it again.
She had so many friends other than me, but she still liked me.
It was always a competition for her attention whenever her other friends were over.I craved attention like heroine,
doing whatever I could to get it.
It made me feel alive.
But her loyalties lied with others,
and so our paths diverged,
and our conversations became more and more shallow and fewer in occurrence.
It took me four years to find true companionship,
Four years of loneliness,
Four years of anger and torment
Four painful years of finding myself and becoming who I am today.
And yet, that little girl comes out once in a while
for a special someone to play with.
There are some people worth showing,
and others that are not.
At my new school, no one really shows each other much
except for their besties and boyfriends and drama informants.
They never really intentionally try to hurt you,
they just say a sideways comment or speak in an unsettling tone.
In the end, they couldn't risk their reputation,
Not even miss outspoken.
The only thing that really bothers me is the words they say
in a friendly voice, an outreach
meant to boost their own security.
"I'm here for you" is what they say,
but they don't mean it.
It is disgusting,
the prideful ego putting on a face of charity and pity,
for the little girl with no friends,
that lives in an unknown city.
It makes me sick that someone
thinks of me as a child when they have no right to judge
because they were that little girl once
and they were treated the same.
And even though they hated every single second of it,
they leave it in the past and put it all away,
stuff it down and keep it in since "I'm old enough to drive" and "I get paid"
and "I'm an adult" and "You're just a child"
What do you have to say?
Every moment has its time,
but this is the moment I constantly climb.
It doesn't stop until it feeds off of envy and hatred
digging its nails into the skin which protects the little self respect I have left.
I'm done with not being taken seriously.
This is my voice.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Book 1
Poetry-----CONTINUOUS PROGRESS GOING ON----- This is a compilation of my poetry. It's very personal to me, so I hope it helps someone somewhere.