outcast

I used to wonder what it would be like to not fit in. To be on the outskirts of society. To be a misfit. But over my 16 years of life I’ve grown to notice that I’ve only ever been on the borders. That I was an outcast, and I always have been. That I was poetic, not popular. Dark, not joyful. I was the girl who was kind but broken. I was a glass jar that no one even noticed was shattered. People literally didn’t give a damn about me or if I was okay, which is precisely how I learned to only trust myself.

I was different, or at least I liked to believe. I had two best friends. The kind who spent their time stealing any decent relationship I ever built and telling me why I’m not as good as them. Quality friendship right there. I was their third wheel, but being stubborn, I refused to accept it. I would not be the duckling who lost its family. And if in some way I was, I’d be courageous and start my own. The only problem is I can’t get out. Its like im a dog on a leash, the kind where the string quickly files out as your dog sprints down the sidewalk with wind rushing through his fur and faith and bliss in the air. Only to suddenly be snatched by the neck and realize all hope is lost.

 

Yeah, that’s me.

 

I want it to be clear that I’m okay. I’m just really misplaced.

If this was a year or two ago I’d probably be praying and dreaming that a cute boy would transfer to my school and sweep me off my feet and tell me that I was wonderful and I was right. But since then I’ve realized that you can’t depend on a boy to save you, because really no one ever will.

Truthfully all I could ever ask for right now would be a clean slate. A new state, new home, new friends. Maybe, I just want a chance to not be mixed up with the wrong people time after time. To not go to an assembly only to find that only two seats were saved, neither for me. To not fail my classes or look around and realize that my friends really just took advantage of me. That maybe for once someone would be on my side. That my best friend wouldn’t always have to be me. That I wouldn’t always have to stare at my own teary eyes in mirror and mutter “You’re okay. You’re okay” over and over again until I distracted myself enough to carry on.

I’ve never wanted to be broken, but I am. My childhood, my innocence, my ignorance was taken far too soon. It’s amazing how the sooner you’re damaged the more messed up you are. The sooner you fall, the more time you have to realize if you stand up, you’ll suddenly be surrounded by the pain and darkness that is the reality of this world.

 

But I can’t just steal back my childhood, I’ve already been exposed.

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