In class I sit with my notebook open
But I can't help but hear the kids next to me
They're so sad their clothes are crying
I frown as I remember a time when I was-
When I had so much self pity.
The kids next to me moan as they complain,
"No one gets me-noone cares-life is meaningless"
It's a circle that they go in
And I don't have to ask why they feel this way.
Their mom ignores them
Or maybe their Dad left them.
They were the one's the other kids picked on
And all they ever wanted was to feel needed.
I know all of this because that was me.
That was me and that will always be me.
The kids pull up their sleeves and compare battle wounds
"Dude, you did that last night? Wow, it's deep."
I want to scream at them. I want to yell
How can someone cut themselves for attention?!
How could they show it off like it was some sort of fashion statement?
Did they know how much I hate the scars
The scars that riddle my thighs,
The scar that will never leave my forearm?
They didn't know.
I roll my eyes as I take a glance at the kid's cut
It is deep,
But I had seen much worse
I had seen a little girl with cuts like tattoos
All over her arms, all over her legs
And you know why she cut?
She cut because she was a prostitute,
She cut because her mom was dead and her daddy raped her
And God knows,
How she tried to hide those cuts.
These kids catch me staring once in a while,
And they sneer
"What, loser, you think we're emo or something?"
I shake my head and look away from them,
"I think you're pathetic."
They take this in
And pull their sleeves down.
Sometimes they look as if they've seen relation in my eyes
Other times they don't get it at all.