We made it on the bus, then finally to school. Dominic has different classes than me so I never get to see him unless it's lunch. At lunch he usually eats with his friends. I made it to my first class. I took my *moleskine notebook, a pencil and my Algebra I binder out of my backpack.
I watched the people in the classroom. I watched the stereotypical bully take another student's stuff. The bully probably has one of those perfect doll lives but his parents neglect him. Not everyone has a life like that. Some are neglected, some are abused, some go anywhere they want and their parents don't care. There's so many stories in people's lives. Some people want to tell theirs but many people won't listen to them.
I started to write.
People.
Even the smallest word can tear us down,
and even the tiniest word can bring us back up.
The slightest push can knock us over,
The littlest hand can help us up.
We are all unique but very much the same.
We are the same on the inside,
We act like we don't care,
But inside we really do.
We act like we are fine,
but inside we are dying to talk to someone.
We are struggling to breathe above the whirlpool pushing us down
We are struggling with our own problems,
We think we can do it all by ourselves....
But we can't.
We smile and say we are fine,
We push away important people in our lives.
We aren't eating,
and for what,
a perfect body?
We aren't being ourselves,
And for what,
Fear of being judged?
We are broken.
We are damaged.
We can fix ourselves.
We can help one another out,
we can encourage one another.
All we have to do is be nice.
*Veiw picture. Picture is of a moleskine notebook.
YOU ARE READING
The Leftovers
Teen FictionI had become a leftover. I am nothing more than a plate of food he forgets about, And soon he will dispose of me. He comes to me when he is hungry for love, I feed him hoping he'll stay, But he leaves. Because that's all I am to him, Just a leftover.
