poetry, writing

Self-Conscious

She knew she was the butt of the joke,

Pulling back, wishing she were invisible.

Her “friends” laughed behind her back.

Her mind laughed at her, stupid girl.

So she shut down, unable to understand.

What made her such an easy mark?

She tried, probably too hard, to fit in.

Her awkward flat feet made it hard to be thin,

She hated how much her brain worked,

People unable to understand her memory.

It made her want to run and hide.

Chin up lady, show me what you’ve got,

But instead she built walls and

Grew a life that existed only in her head.

There she could be happy and free.

She could feel sadness, and write it away,

Then show her joy in the smallest of ways.

Destined to be lonely, even when surrounded

By friends and family who loved her so,

But she couldn’t see them, her mind blocked

Every good thing that happened,

Called all of it a fluke, or a conspiracy

To placate her until they wanted to

Pull the rug out from under her yet again.

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