And Then There's Harry Potter
SpellMasters
I'm tired.
I'm sick.
I'm tired
and
I'm sick
of all these people
looking at me,
who don't see me.
They see:
The-Boy-Who-Lived.
the defeater of Voldemort,
at the tender age of one.
I'm seen,
but not.
I talk
people hear me,
but no one really listens.
I'm tired.
I'm sick.
I'm tired
and
I'm sick
of all these people
who hang around me,
but make me feel used.
They know me,
but they don't know
me.
They know the mask
that I present,
but not the me inside;
who is
self-conscious,
confused,
scared,
and most of all:
lonely.
I have friends,
but at the same time…
none.
A/N: I originally wrote a version of this about myself, as a stress reliever, and then I realized that it represented Harry in a lot of ways. So I changed around some of the words, and some of the sentences, to fit more, and this is the result. There was more that I wanted to fit in here, that didn't make it, so I might, later on, give this a second part; but nothing is definite. So for the moment, please review, and tell me what you think of it. Any questions, comments, or critisims are welcome, because it will help my writing all around, and that means better chapters on other stories.
A/N 2: My other stories: Amnesia, Promises That are Not Yet Forgotten or Broken, and SG-1 and the interview are moving slowly. They are not forgotten about or abandoned, don't worry. Please just be patient with me, the next chapters will be finished soon, I am working on them and will hopefully finish them in a couple weeks. Thanks for the patience. SpellMasters out.