You see me every day, and yet I still go by. Unnoticed; invisible. Just another hallucination. Just another one of those kids. I guess that is all my fault. No, it truly is. I don’t let many people see through my cloak, shield, mask. I don’t want them to know. Sure… my life has been great, better than most. What you don’t see is my tortured past, my secret tortured life; the one that not even my parents can see. I guess that means they don’t know me. 

You see me every day, walking down the hall. with a (fake) smile on my face, a (robotic) spring in my step, a (deceiving) sparkle in my fleck. I laugh inside because you don’t even have a clue. You judged me all those months ago, when I took a turn for the worst. when I let my charade slip; fall though the cracks; the masquerade that you thought was me. 

I bet about now, you are wondering what is going on. Just like most do when I choose to let them in, let them see, let them know the truth behind my eyes, lies, and into my heart - my broken, shattered, scarred, barely beating heart. Just as I am going to let you know the truth so maybe you will stop judging me.

Back in sparks, when I was three, something horrid happened with the boy next door. I thought he was my friend. It happened on the side of the house where no one could see. I was so confused, not quite sure as to what was going on. The boy did something that I blocked out for years. Now I can remember what he did to me.

I won’t go into detail, in fear that I might cry. Just know that this was hard to write, after 17 years of silence. With all of the eyes that have judged me before, staring up at me with sympathy and sadness. That isn’t what I want from you. I just want to tell you the truth behind my eyes, lies, and into my broken, shattered, barely beating heart. I just want you to know why I am very quiet, alone, and sometimes shy, always angry and masking my everyday pain; the person that is me.

So when you see me in the hall, or anyone like myself. I want you to stop, remember this, and realize that something might have happened to pain them into fakeness, alienate them into lying, and hurt them into fear. Your judging eyes and talking mouths and ignorance for the reality of he, she, or me.

Now you know, alienated me has a story behind the act, but don’t pity or console or pretend to care, because I can see through that. It is a nice gesture, but not what I am aiming for. If you haven’t figured out why I spilled the beans by now, then forget everything I told you, go back to the place where only gossip exists, to where the life of yours is pure and untainted by deceiving, little, pained, alienated…me.

Because what I am is definitely not what you see.