My name is Crazy
My name is disgusting, crooked teeth, ***** ***** four eyes, fatty, the pregnant chick.
But they call me crazy
I am not crazy
I express myself in ways no one can see or want to feel
I am not the cold expressionless face of cool
My clothing brands don’t shout the colors of the homophobic rainbow
Nor do my eyes lust after every boy with the sticker on his hat
For every boy and girl I see molded together in the hallway
I feel the sting of being alone
Hidden in the restroom
I see the smear smack and glitter of the makeup they touch up
I am not like them.
Nor do I want to be.
I feel pain everyday
The stifling grip of my depression dulls every sun ray
Some understand this very pain
HOW DARE YOU
How dare you try to understand my pain
I’m a teenager hear my angst of being alone like all the other alone people
In this jail cell we call highschool
We are all the same though we crave the different
Under the oppression of the creativity box we are forced into only few see the light
Crying aloud as the same people pile on top I feel their words sting.
The name calling it calls out. Their suffering is obvious
The indifferent face of cool shines so brightly with caring they are blind to it
My name is Christy
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 2:05 AM UTC
My name is Crazy
My name is disgusting, crooked teeth, ***** ***** four eyes, fatty, the pregnant chick.
But they call me crazy
I am not crazy
I express myself in ways no one can see or want to feel
I am not the cold expressionless face of cool
My clothing brands don’t shout the colors of the homophobic rainbow
Nor do my eyes lust after every boy with the sticker on his hat
For every boy and girl I see molded together in the hallway
I feel the sting of being alone
Hidden in the restroom
I see the smear smack and glitter of the makeup they touch up
I am not like them.
Nor do I want to be.
I feel pain everyday
The stifling grip of my depression dulls every sun ray
Some understand this very pain
HOW DARE YOU
How dare you try to understand my pain
I’m a teenager hear my angst of being alone like all the other alone people
In this jail cell we call highschool
We are all the same though we crave the different
Under the oppression of the creativity box we are forced into only few see the light
Crying aloud as the same people pile on top I feel their words sting.
The name calling it calls out. Their suffering is obvious
The indifferent face of cool shines so brightly with caring they are blind to it
My name is Christy
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