It's calm inside the room filled with boys and girls working away; a woman with a curly wig‒it seemed‒had done her own thing at the front of the room. The door opening and closing to reveal (Y/N) stepping into it allowed every child's head to snap up at (Y/N), smiling the creepiest smile they could muster in greeting. The teacher slowly turned her head to face (Y/N), the tips of her lips had pushed up once meeting the girl's eyes.
Why did (Y/N) feel like a doll at that moment? It's like they pulled her by her hair, so she didn't go nowhere. They could tell her that they loved her, but they would probably treat her like she was never there. Anyone could say the cruelest words to break (Y/N)'s heart, because she was over there, working her ass off. Why is it so hard to see? If (Y/N) cut herself, she'd bleed.
(Y/N) was just like everyone and everyone was like her; imperfect and human were they. Show and tell; (Y/N) was on display for all the fuckers to see. Harsh words would be sent if no one got a pic with her. Buy and sell, like (Y/N) was a product to society. Art don't sell unless every authority was fucked up. Beggin' and cry for more, she had 'em on the floor; there were strangers takin' pictures of her when she asked, "No more". It's really hard for (Y/N) to say just how she felt; she was scared scared that she'd get thrown away like a banana peel. "Why can't you fucking hear me?" (Y/N) wanted to scream, but it was just show and tell. Was anyone listening yet?
