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It Wasn't My Choice

By , prairie village, KS
I am my daddy's little girl, my mother's daughter. To some I am a knight in shining armor, hiding behind a scruffy wardrobe. People see me as that girl who doesn't care, that girl who doesn't have feelings.

And so I trudge through life, not exactly caring what goes on around me.

No listens to my cries, my screams, my tears. No one notices as I tuck myself away from my friends. They don't care what happened to me. I am invisible.

Days go by, years drain away.

I sit in this chair, daydreaming about the boy who broke my heart. Daydreaming about the girl I kissed. Daydreaming about the boy who treated my kindly. Wishing my best friend would realize I want to hold her, kiss her, love her just like her boyfriend does.

She doesn't notice me, for I am invisible.

I sit behind the wheel, with my dad in the passenger seat. My hair is tied back, I am wearing his hand-me does clothes. I eat like a pig, I talk like a man, I walk like a male. I flirt with the same cheesy lines my best male friend taught me. Neither man seem to see I want to wander into their hunting grounds and make a few sweet girls look at me and only me.

They don't notice, for I am invisible.

And I wonder, 'if I were to die, to paint this house red with spilled blood, would they notice I was gone? Would they notice my bloody body? Or would I be left their to rot - invisible?'





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