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Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Razor

This poem was inspired by a kid I heard about who is a little different from the other kids at his school and is having a hard time. It is written from his perspective. I took some liberties with the story so it's not really about him anymore but more about social outliers in general. Especially the end. That didn't happen to the kid in real life.

I'm lonely
I look in the mirror
I hate what I see
I walk by myself
I hear them whispering
" . . . weird . . . "
" . . . creepy . . . "
" . . . crazy . . . "
Their words are like razors on my skin

I have no friends
I crave companionship
I dream of acceptance
I get none
I'm too 
" . . . weird . . . "
" . . . creepy . . . "
" . . . crazy . . . "
My words are like razors on my skin

I see her
I adore her
She sees me
She avoids me
She said,
" . . . friends . . . nothing more . . . "
We aren't friends.
Her words are like razors on my skin

I'm lonely
I look in the mirror
I hate what I see
I stand in a porcelain bathtub
I remember their whispers
" . . . weird . . . "
" . . . creepy . . . "
" . . . crazy . . . "
The razor cuts like their words into my skin.

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