And She Sits Alone

Everything's fine and normal and happy, just an ordinary kid. And then she get's clever, then she get's unpopular because the other girls are supposedly jealous. They say things and she says nothing. Just sits and takes it and pretends the words they say don't hurt. Pretends it doesn't matter and it's not true but inside her head it feels like it is. Suddenly everything becomes clear and they're right. They're all right.
Freak. Weirdo. Fat. Ugly. Everything, it's all right but she never says it.
She grows up a little more this constant doubt and lack of confidence or assurance in anything. She stays quite in her classes, stays quite with her friends and family and says nothing to nobody about anything. She wears that tilted smile and everyone thinks it's real. She hands those perfect grades like a chain around her neck to show she's okay, but really they're shackles around her feet.
Time goes by more and people say harsher things. She starts to hurt inside when everyone says things. And so she eats a little. And it feels good. It feels so good she can't stop until she's thrown up.
And then other girls still don't like her, but now the boys hate her too. Say names, sing songs about monster's coming over the hill and that it's her and she just sits there, at the back desk on her own, because her friends aren't in that class. And they wouldn't sit with her anyway.
And then she crack-breaks. She snaps her ruler and the floodgates break and they all see, and it makes it worse. They all laugh that she's so weak after so long of trying so hard to hide it all away.
The taunting carries on only now at home too. Too quiet. Punches from older brother and abusive words from parents. Freak. Loser. Weirdo. Get a life.
And she grows older again. And everyone still hates her, even her friends leave her out as if she doesn't exsist. And then someone cuts her. Someone slices her face with scissors and suddenly everyone's sorry for one day. But the next is back to normal.
More and more each day she get's quieter, she hurts more inside and that muscle inside of her chest beats slower and slower as it dies out from lack of love.
Another year passes and she's left her old friends behind. Finally found someone who likes her for her and everything's almost good. But parents are still mean and brothers still hit and bullies still say mean things and she still get's lost in her own little world just to escape the pain of the real one.
And then her friend hurts her. Leaves her out and makes everything her fault and she's alone again. Sit's alone in class and just tag's along with her friends who don't really care.
Don't notice how suddenly she get's changed in the stalls and never takes her jumper off.
How they've never seen anything more than face and hands.
She gets home and goes straight upstairs and says nothing to no-one. Sits alone in that upstairs room and says nothing to no-one but her friend who isn't real to anybody else.
And she spends more and more time in the bathroom before her shower. Razor's edge becomes blunt quicker and quicker and her leg's and stomach are in shreds. The red washes down the drain and she hides it away from her parents. Hide's it away but they never notice and never care.
A little bit longer and she tells her new friend. She tells her she's done something she shouldn't have but doesn't regret it. And her friend is confused and she doesn't say anything else.
And she's getting changed again and they are looking at her, looking at the red lines across her legs that she try's to hide. They are looking at the bloody scars that she doesn't want them to see.
More and more time and more and more space and she's running out. She has to use her arm. Wears hoodies and jumpers and long sleeves around the house so no-one notices. Takes in jackets for PE at school and never takes her cardigan off, even in summer. On mufti day's she wear baggy tee's that come way down and hide everything.
And they still say things. They don't notice that she reaches toward's the double edged sword everytime they speak. Don't care about the consequences of their actions. A broken soul.
Everyone pitching in their share like tents at festivals until she is completely full of their drunken hatred that she has to push them out, push them off and away through jagged scarlet rows.
And then they find out. Her parents see and ask questions and she says it's stress. Just strees and they say nothing more. Everything is forgotten but everytime she steps inside the bathroom her eyes glance straight to the cabinet that holds her tools.
She promised she wouldn't do it again but promises are made to be broken.
And it get's worse, she doesn't cut but she bumps and thumps and whacks and walks into things. Trips, and slips and stumbles on purpose. But then he comes.
Her forgotten friend that no-one else knows and she loves him and he listens when she speaks and he wraps his arms around her shattered body holding her together. Holding her whole.
And she stops.
Stops everything.
But she doesn't eat. Wants to be thin and pretty like all the other girls and so just stays quiet and doesn't eat. And she likes that empty feeling in her stomach that matches the one inside her chest.
She loves it.
She needs it.
Just like she need's her always there friend.
And it hurts a little less in her chest when her stomach hurts a lot more. And they say things still and they look and stare but she does nothing. She sits alone and knows that someday everything will be fine. She'll be thin and pretty and perfect.


But for now, she's just a fat, ugly, loser.