I tear at the slightest inconvenience... I feel weak at even the slightest break in the glass I call my world. I need to be perfect in order to keep up. I need to be the best. I need once a role model for children that aren't mine, yet I still take care of them like they are. I am still a kid, why can't I be one? Why can't I be the irresponsible one for once? I tear at my own skin when I think about it. I can't tell anyone about it, because no one would believe me. Why would they? He was the golden child, never got yelled at, never got disciplined, nothing. And here I am, the quiet kid who nobody knew the name of. The one who spoke to no one. The one with the books. The one with the divorced parents. That's it. No one knew anything about me and they never will. Because why would they care? Why would they pay attention to a girl who hardly spoke? Who hardly socialized? Who hardly made friends? I was alone, and I still am in some ways, I just surround myself with people to make myself feel better. Though it never worked. Did it? I surround myself and yet, I still feel alone. Is "alone" what I truly deserve?
"In a world of shade and the breeze, Sunlight breaks open the skin"
