The sky was black, and snow was falling. It was around five in the morning when I saw the young girl. Her eyes were a torquise color, and her hair was a light brown. Her skin was smooth, yet covered with scars and brusies. The girl seemed emotionless, not a expression on her face. Only worn out crocs covering her feet, and a small, beaten up jacket covering her arms. She sat on a bench, near the park, trying to keep her small body warm.
Her eyes would wonder around the snow only to realize she was alone. I stared at her, but she never notcied I was there. My eyes tried to find hers, I couldn't move, I couldn't talk, I couldn't breathe.
Her head fell to her knees wanting to hide her face, the face that was beaten and scratched. Suddenly, the sound of her sobs filled the freezing air, and the cries from that hurt child echoed. No one heard her but me.
I wanted to walk over to her, and to tell her it was okay, and that I know how she felt. I couldn't move though, it felt as if my body wasn't even real. Then those torquise eyes, filled with tears, looked up at me.
And that was when I realized the young girl, was me.
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Poetry For Us 'Different' People
PoetryWe're lost, and confused. Not only that, but we're broken. It's not easy being the abnormal kids. Worst part is that, not many people understand us. Many of us humans hide our worries, and fears. And how we hide those things are simple. We give a sl...
