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?