I hated back then,
When I was younger
No one really seemed to like me,
At least that’s what it felt like.
It all started when I was just eleven
Getting attacked by students,
Four and fives years olden then me
Did they need to vent out their own anger?
Or were they really cardboard bullies?
I tried to ask for help from teacher,
But when the first one questioned me,
Like I was a liar.
And the second, who told me I deserved it,
I stopped asking for help…
Was I really a bad child?
Should I ever had been born?
Just some questions I would ask myself.
As I entered my teenage years,
I found out I was different from others,
But that just made it worse.
I soon stayed in my room when I wasn’t at school,
Or taken to places to talk to doctors,
About how I was different.
I also wanted to die,
Many times I would hold the knife to my arm,
Thinking if it were worth it.
I always had a small ray of hope,
That made me move the knife away,
I knew my life would get better,
If I just held on until I left school.
So I followed that for four more years.
Even if things did get worse,
To the point of my dropping out of school for a year.
But I kept on going,
Although I didn’t do well in school,
Just because, I believe my life would get better.
And it did.
Now I’m a different person,
To who I was back then.
If I could talk to her,
I would give her a shoulder to cry on.
since I did not allow myself to burden anyone with my tears.