Quiet.
Shy.
Emo.
Goth.

Called this just because I’m not,
Obnoxious.
Loud.
And like the color black.

I shouldn’t care,
But yet I do.
They don’t know,
How sensitive I can be.

They don’t know,
That most nights,
I cry myself to sleep,
Or lie awake thinking dark thoughts.

They say it’s a joke,
Or that they’re not trying to be mean.
Well I’M not trying to be rude,
But you shouldn’t have said it in the first place.

I sit alone,
And feel miserable,
Thinking no one in this place cares,
But then I remember,

Others are far worse.
They take their own lives,
Or cut away the pain.
Like I have thought about doing.


I cry for those who are gone.
And for those who are abused.
I am lucky to be here.
And to have a caring family.

I think no one cares.
When in reality,
Everyone who matters does.
Then I realize,

It would be selfish,
If I took away something,
That wasn’t truly mine to take.
And so I just have one thing to say,

To all of the people,
Who have felt the way I have felt.
It gets better,
Even when you think that there is no way that will happen.

Others feel this way.
One day you may meet someone like this.
And you will know,
You are not alone.
And you have to try to work it out.