People come and go, like leaves scattering on an autumn day. No one appreciates the good things anymore, like me. I can tell you all about my life in just one word. Rancid.

She takes the bus everyday, having it been monotonous in its own special way, people ignore her, sit on her, scream at her, but she has better things to do then punch them all out. Like survive.

She goes home to be yelled at for doing something right or wrong. By this time she is crying wishing her mother would rot in hell, but she doesn’t mean it. Truly she loves her. By now her eyes are red and puffy, and she can’t see out of them. But somehow its better so that she cant see the vicious blows to her face she will encounter later on.

Its nighttime now, all of her homework has been done, not a word has been said to her except for “you little b**** why are you so f***in stupid?” again and again. She wont be going to sleep easily tonight, for the fear of waking up in smoke. She always has to be on the move. She might act like she’s stupid or nothing more than skin, blood, organs, and bones. But on the inside is all of this. I reach out to her, but she pulls back farther. I try to bring her out, but she declines. She knows that if she comes out people will die. I know this because she is me, and I am her. We may not look alike but we are each other.

We are scared of clowns, not for the same reasons normal people are. We envy them for being able to smile, and act. We however can only put on a fake smile everyday, hoping that “God” will one day realize that we are sad, and lonely in this world and make us feel better. People like us can only hope, but only on a certain level, to much and we are let down.