People live differently than one another.

None identical but similar.

We all don’t grow up the same,

    and not everyone is popular.

But yet,

   even the most popular kid

         could feel left out.

No matter how many people crowd around them.

It’s not the same,

           as when people are there for you.

Not just to stand by you or lend an ear,

   but to understand you.

And when it feels like no one truly understands,

   you begin to lose all means.

And you tend to forget who you really are,

        and what makes you unique compared to other people.

But you’ve been knocked down,

                            and tumbled down the street.

All washed up on fresh pavement residue

          of the sky’s after fall of tears.

And the scars and cuts bleed through you

              as you try to make it by,

    Day by day.

Yet, everyone can see it—

         Everyone calls you names,

     spread rumors, and avoids you.

The life of misery,

            was not a life that we human beings

       have intended to live.

But with each fall—

           Depression climbs,

     and tries to strut out the pain’s tension.

And drag you down it’s malevolent labyrinth.

     And trap you in a rut.

And the sad thing is…

Some refuse to get out,

               and they give themselves in.

—Or hide their stories.

                 and evanesce as if they were

        never a part of this world.

  Like that was the solution to their problem.

         But no…

 That was not the solution to anything—