Pitter, Patter...

"OW!" I squealed as my finger caught on to a piece of broken glass. A drop of blood fell on to the cold bathroom floor silently. I sucked on my finger for abit, trying to make the pain go away. I put on a band-aid and squeezed it between my fingers. My mom was shouting somewhere and I cried. Tears rolled down like avalanches as I quickly ran into my room. I muffled my cries with my soft pillow. I felt like a little kid again and laughed at the sight of my bleeding hand cluthing my plush snowman. I heaved in a breath and wiped my eyes with my doll.

I wasn't crying because of a tiny cut. I was crying because I was looking back on today, I might've laughed more then ever or talked alot but all I felt was a gap in my stomache whenever I tried to talk. I wonder why people are acting so differently today. Why do they look at me as if I'm some sort of trash. People you know can feel like total villains, why do they make life harder? They may think they're doing it for my own sake and if they think I want to know how they feel towards me, I dont care, I dont want to know.

My mom peeked in and I pretended to be sleeping--with red puffy eyes.

"Hey" she said. It was kind that she was lining my dolls next to me and all, but I honestly wanted to be left alone, I didnt want to talk. I guess she was worried I waas going to start cutting myself or something. How embarrassing. I let a huge sigh of relief as her guitar teacher came for her lessons. Sometimes-even though some people would consider this "emo", I dont care-I feel as if the world is just too much for me. Sometimes I want to scream, I want to thrash around, I want to just let the world go without me having to control my own "perfect little world".

Pitter, Patter... the rains tapped the window. As the tears hit the floor.