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The Pure, With the Impurites
Makeup
It’s our only mask.
We use hide all the impurities
That we stare at in the mirror everyday.
Constantly wondering
Why me?
Why not the girl
who makes friends with everyone
Just to talk behind their back and later stab it.
Why not the boy
Who has broken so many innocent hearts
That we wonder if he even has his own.
yet us,
the pure ones, with impurities,
are the ones who are insulted daily.
Fake, Ugly, Loser, Wannabe
The names go on and on.
They obviously cannot see
We wear this mask to boost our confidence,
Just to have it knocked back down
By their low blows and their constant glares.
That believe me,
Hurt much more than sticks and stones.
The brainwashed adults and “concerned” parents are no help.
Their voices like a soundtrack stuck on repeat.
“Kids can be cruel.”
As if that is suppose to comfort us.
I say us,
But that answer is only received by the few that reach out for help.
The truth still stands,
Millions of us sit in silence,
Alone.
We ask why no one helps us,
As if we believe that people are aware,
Silence is our loudest cry for help.
Yet looking back, we realize,
Makeup was only our excuse.
