I wrote this when I was twelve, a darker part of my life, where a lot seems to still be unexplained. As I re-read it time and time again, it always seems that I don't remember feeling all of this. It seems someone else wrote it. I'm not sure how to title it, so I need some help.
The room full of faces.
No, bodies.
Each of their 'I love yous' seem to single me out.
Putting me back in the shadows...
They just make me feel that much more empty.
That much more alone.
I can not say I have lived.
Nor known pure happiness.
If I have, I've forgotten it.
I am not always sorry that I make you feel insignificant.
With every lie and every threat,
it seems there is another drink, or cigarette.
Childhood has seemed to be apart of the past.
Only after 12 years.
I despise to hear the remarks and talking,
you say when you think I am too far to hear.
Hypocrite mouths, and lying eyes.
Defensive stance.
I sit and scope the room.
I watch the people as they act and lie.
Waiting for my response.
"Okay." is all that ever seems to surface.
I don't mean to hurt you,
There's just something wrong with me.
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