sometimes
i apologize so much
i feel like i'm saying sorry for my existence

Hey look, it's the new English *****

I didn't dare look up
The same words for 2 weeks now
I only just transferred here
And already I had a nickname

I hate it

Eyes stared at me during class
Words exchanged about me
Not the kindest ones either
I was different... an outsider

Why didn't I get a nicer class..?

I was bullied
Alone
No one even referred to me by name
Just because I was from elsewhere and rumours travel fast

I hated my life... everything and everyone.

I was crying in the bathroom after school
Locked the door as tears streamed down my face
My thoughts finally got to me
I started to believe what they said

No no no no no...

I walked out wiping my eyes
No one was at school anymore
Except maybe a few teachers here and there
"Hey..."

I'm shocked... no one was supposed to be here

A boy stands in front of me
Asian, looked exhausted and he wore glasses. He smiles.
I vaguely remember him from class
He sat by the window in the back

No... please don't hurt me...

"Amber right?"
I'm confused. "Yeah... Amber [---]."
"Amber [---]... mind if I tell you something?"
"Not really... what?"

I wipe my eyes and wait for him to speak

"Don't cry alone here.
I know it's rough...
But nothing they say is true.
Besides, I find the British to be awesome."

I stare at him, dumbfounded.

"Um... Thank you..."
"Hey, no prob. It's late... you should get going."
Another smile.
"I'll walk with you if you want."

I feel really warm inside. And before I realise it, I'm smiling too*

"I'd like that."

Today I'm going to stop
This ridiculous destructive thing
I've been doing it to myself
For five. miserable. years.
I talk so much about
How I hate to be controlled
but this is controlling me
I'm wasting my life
and this is my fresh start
I don't want to paint over
the same old canvas
I've already painted black
I've gone down this road before
and I could have been a killer
I don't want to be her anymore
The girl no one could help
and just watched her waste away before them
I'm no longer going to count the numbers
and measure and weigh
and cry and hate
I'M DONE
it can't control me anymore
she told me she was worried about me
now I know it's too far
what do I care anyway about all this?
It won't be very easy
but I'm not going to do this to myself anymore
I'm taking this canvas and BURNING IT
I'm starting fresh
I'm done with this
I'm finished
I need to be strong enough
for her
I won't become a statistic
under the earth in a wooden box
with only a block of cement
to prove I ever existed
because pretty doesn't have a size
and for her
I'm going to stop
Five years
is long enough

So I'm writing a fiction novel

Cool, what's It about?

Well, it's set in a dystopian society.

So not very cheerful. Tell me about the society.

There are multiple different governments that disagree with each other, millions die everyday, people are tortured, some people are even killing themselves because of diseases of the mind, sometimes people hurt each other bad enough emotionally they traumatize them. People still judge each other based on things they can't change and your beliefs can get you killed. People shoot other people for no reason and there are always nuclear weapons pointed at each other. Crazy people and worse, some sane people ****** people remorselessly and so many people hate each other.

Sounds awful, what's it called?

Reality.

The other day
I stood outside
thinking to myself

All the pain came flooding back
from past times all alike
pain I shared with others
and pain all of my own
pain that brought knives rope
and pain that brought some hope

Then my sorrow came flooding out
in tiny shiny drops
with a name we've  given
that is so simple,
harmless teardrops

Yet as they fell towards my palm
they turned to hardened ice
falling down to my open hand
behold my frozen pain

I reached up my trembling hand
to catch the falling silver
only to see both pain and hope
shatter in my palm

This isn't so much a poem as something I wanted to point out

So we started poetry in school
and the teacher handed us
a big book of "amazing" poems
to analyze and revel in,
but the silent truth
is hello poetry poems
are more than a million times
more amazing.