When someone looks at me, they instantly think “emo”.
Not because of the way I act, but because of the way I look.
Dark eyes, dark hair, dark clothes, pale face long sleeves, supposedly hiding my “cuts”.
Nobody cares to listen to the fact that I’m not emo.
Nobody cares to look at me myself.
Sure I may have sorrow in my eyes, sure I may seem to never cry.
So what?
I like the pain of being rejected, though I would like to show all the prisses and jocks that I’m not all that bad.
That scar on my back is just from a fall, and that scrape on my arm is nothing at all.
I’ve been looked down upon for a long time, but do I care?
No.
If I did I might cry, and If I cry, I’ll want to die.
You may think I have suicidal thoughts, and sometimes I do.
Not because I am emo, but because the world can hurt.
I am not emo, just a little depressed.
If you anchor me down to this world, maybe I wouldn’t be this way, but there is no one.
I am NOT emo, don’t say I’m so.
Leave me be, and I’ll leave you alone.
Put me down, and I won’t care.
Just know I’m not emo.