You don't see me.

A lover of English, of words and writings.

A diligent runner who tries her best to make her father proud.

A loyal friend who will always listen.

A straight A student her whole life.

An organized girl who cleans without being asked.

But that's what you choose to see. I'm alone to deal with the problems behind the attributes you call "outstanding".

I escape to other worlds in those books you see me carry home from the library.

I run to feel my heart race to remind myself that I'm alive; to carry on the fight of life.

I'm loyal to people whom I never get close to for fear of being hurt again.

I'm awake at one A.M. doing physics that I'm in silent tears over because a B is "unacceptable".

My hands shook from anxiety over the change of where I put my clothes, and I sat on my bedroom floor wondering what was happening to me.

You praise me for what I've "accomplished". But how dare you say you're there for me when you never ask me about my day. You see someone who doesn't exist.

You don't see me.