I'm sitting in the back.

You might not realize, but I'm alive.

You think I can't see the glances you shoot my way.

Like I'm scary.

Like I'm a freak.

I'm shy, but you know that.

Or do you?

The way you ignore my every move.

The way you ignore my every thought.

The way you ignore me.

Makes me think that you know.

Perhaps you know how I cry when I sleep because nobody notices me.

Perhaps you see that I am a human being.

But, perhaps you ignore it. 

Like you do, me.

Doesn't the guilt gnaw at you during the night?

The same way my voice gnaws on me trying to be heard?

Maybe the guilt will reach you. But, maybe not.

My voice doesn't reach me.

And if I talk?

You still won't hear.

Because although inside my voice is loud.

Outside, I'm still just me.




And maybe, if that guilt that you've been ignoring every did reach you, you'd see.

That the me that's hiding wants to be set free.

I may be quiet.

But, I'm not dumb.

And you have the option to release me.

Or kill me by the way you look past me.






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