It’s not me that you see.  

They see what I let them see. The crazy, happy side of me or the sad, depressed side.

My parents expect me to do all these things. The things they wanted to do but never could.

They never even bothered to ask what I wanted to do or what I think about.

I feel like a dog on a leash because they control me with all these restrictions.

It’s not me that you hear.

I’m tired of letting everyone push me around and listening to all the things they say.

Most of what they hear are rumors that had gotten out of hand.

They mock me, shout my name, and make me walk down the hallways in shame.

It’s just not me.

They see how I act around others. But they don’t know me.

Some days I want to run away. Some days I think about suicide.

And some I think of bad thoughts about how to take revenge.

People shouldn’t judge each other, before they get to know them.

It’s not me.