There is no knife that cuts my skin

Just too many bright reflections

Good words are screaming from within

And blood might help confessions

I’ve read so many similar words on here

In some weird way that fills me with fear

I can understand it’s romantic, I guess

But for once in my life I wish to hear less

Little red drops, they won’t help the pain

Big chunky bracelets on your wrist

It makes you feel like you’re insane

Yet still you remain, and still you insist

I’m not special.

Just another  
blonde  
white  
privileged  
child  
who thinks  
they can  
change  
this place.  

But that teacher  
wasn’t special  
either.  

I try to listen.  
They don’t.  
She didn’t.  

She didn’t care.  
Not for kids.  
Not for my words.  
Not for me.  

She made me  
hate school.  
Hate that place.  
Hate her cage.