by Ciana Parker

Created on: May 11, 2008

I don't want to get up.
It's not that I can't,
I just don't want to.
No, I'm not lazy, don't judge me like that.
I have perfectly good reasons NOT to get up.
But I know I'll have to, at some point.
You know how it is, school, have to go.
I'll wake up, and have to rush through my morning routine,
I probably overslept.
I'll look in the mirror and think "what am I going to do with this mess today?"

People think I'm talking about my hair, but I'm not.
I'm talking about me.
I'll just barely make it to the bus, and be surrounded by fake smiles and fake people.
A few Hi's, and what's ups, but no one really means it.
They don't care.
On the way to school, I'll spend 45 minutes gazing out the window.
I'll participate in a few conversations, but it's not like they're actually listening to what I have to say.
They don't care.
We'll get to school, and I'll walk through the halls,
Ignoring the glares, being deaf to the whispers, blind to the crude hand signals.
I get to m class and set my back pack down,
I venture back into the frightening, disapproving halls.
I wander aimlessly, until the bell rings.
I head back to my class, and watch as everyone breaks into their own cliques.
I'm left standing alone, gazing from group to group of laughing people.
I envy them, every last one of them.
They seem to have a life,
People who care about them,
And would never betray them.
I remain quiet, and sit off by myself.
It wouldn't work to sit with anyone,
I've already tried that.
I pull myself away from the jealousy that swells, and focus on what I want.
I spend my time day dreaming,
Taking everything in, but not really absorb it.
The bell rings for the next class, and I awake from my trance long enough to get to the room.
I sit down in my seat,
And continue my ritual daydreaming.
Lunch time,
I walk with friends, and we talk, but I still feel we're so distant.
I'm so distant.
I feel as if I'm walking to lunch by myself,
In an alternate dimension.
I want to go home, leave this place.
I'm only halfway through my day,
And I already want to go home.
I just feel so alone,
Nothing is right.
It can't be right!
What did I ever do wrong?
Why is my life the messed up one?
Most people call this depression.
I call it my average day.
Somehow I make it through the rest of the day,
Make it home.
I dash to my computer,
My only refuge from the cruel world.
No plans for afternoon,
Nothing to do but try and create my alternate reality.
The fake reality I created,
Where everything will be alright because I made it.

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