In my dreams, I'm accepted.
I'm popular, I'm beautiful, I'm confident,
I'm a better me.
I love myself because others finally do, too.

Then I wake up,
and become the real Lizzie;
bullied, ugly, insecure,
the real me.

I stare at the mirror, and
wonder;
What have I become?
How did this happen?

My hair, it's greasy,
my eyes are swollen,
the bags under my eyes
a terrible shade of purple.

I leave my safe haven,
my room, with baggy sweatshirts
and black jeans covering my skin.
I head to my own personal hell; school.

Keeping my head down
used to work;
I used to blend in,
invisble.

Now, the popular preps
single me out,
beating me up with
verbal sticks and stones.

The baggy sweatshirts
hide the scars I have on the
outside, but nothing can hide
the deep, neverending scars on the inside.

At school, my safe place
is the library, where I escape
amongst the hundreds of books,
pretending I'm the beautiful heroes in the fantasies.

Then, the preps find me.
The librarian pretends not to see
As they cross the line, slapping
me for getting a better test grade.

The tears fall silently
down the paths they know well,
and the beautifully evil preps laugh;
I don't.

When will the pain go away?
Some say soon, some say eventually,
I say, never.
Unless people actually care.

They don't.
Nobody truly cares.
Will it take my suicide
For the preps to realize
their mistake?

How many teens will we lose
before we realize
bullying needs
to
stop?