I remember roaming, silently observing.
It was dim, it was damp, it was beautiful.
People stared, I remember. Oh, the whispers...

"Why is she so quiet?"
"I heard it's because her brother died."
"No, no. That was just a rumor Emory started
to get back at her for stealing her boyfriend."
"Her best friend is Nicole Dodd."
"Isn't she that emo goth chic?"

"I heard she's bi."
"Same here, and it definitely shows. Ew!"

Do they not realize
that their whispers
are more
like yells
inside
an echoing building

Do they not realize
that their faces
are always
judged
exactly the same way?

Do they even realize
that every day
they look at someone
and they only see
the ratty, dark cover
and not the millions of stories
inside?

All they have to do
is open it
and read
and get past the prologue
or even the first sentence

And then they'll know.
they'll know why this cover
is so tattered and beaten and torn
it's because of them
it's always been because of them,
**for not looking past my cover.