Walking through the corridors, feeling the judgemental looks burning on my skin.

To them I'm a stereotype, a girl filled with tattoos, a skinhead jacket and a fake smile.

A threat maybe?

No I can't be?
I'm laughing all the time, so no one will notice.

If they only knew..

What's hiding inside me.
A broken sensitive heart.

A trumatized girl,
who only wants to be herself,
without people looking at her differently and constantly.

Do they see the victim-stamp tattooed on my forehead?
Do they know? Can they?