She knows they judge her. She knows that she shouldn’t care. For what they see she doesn’t. But they have no idea. Scars and tears and blood and pain. Everyday she asks herself ‘what will tomorrow be?’ Will it be scars and tears and blood and pain or will it be a normal person day? Why can’t she just live to be herself and not have to please everybody else? Why does she even bother caring what they think? They’ll judge her no matter who she pretends to be. Smiles, giggles, laughter, acting just fine, you see? But that isn’t her. She’s breaking inside. Just because you see what you want doesn’t mean its her fault. If she says nothing its not on her shoulders. Can they not see she already has the weight of the world on hand? Your hand is only so big, and eventually like the statue set in stone, so frail, it will crumble. So in the end, the weight of her world will no longer be. It will all go away. She put it out of its misery.
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