Different

I am different.

From my brown, wavy hair

to the sketchbook in my hands

I am different

from the clones of this world

sometimes

it can also get lonely

I am different

People can see

that I walk the other direction

I am different

People don't like that

They decide to pick on me

I am different

Crying in my room

my sketchbook lying in the corner

gathering dust

I am different

laying in bed

knowing now that 

I am alone

I am different

I straighten my hair

throw my sketchbook away 

and walk with the crowd

I was different

Now I am a clone

but I thought it was worth it

I am not alone.

I look at the girl

with red curly hair

and the sketchbook in her hand

now I wish

I wasn't a clone.

I am different,

with my red curly hair.

Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
Me

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