the childish innocence that you see in a young one's face
that sweet grin of pure joy
is a remembrance
a memory
the petty fake beings at high school
the preps, as some call them
try to act happy
act peppy and full of life
ugh
they sit in class and drool over guys with muscles and blond hair
nice, real...smooth
they
play with their hair and swipe make up on their lids
but, then
there's me
my friends and I
in the back
covered in earth tones--set apart from the bright colored freaks in the front
they call us Gothic, they call us freaks
just because we don't live up to their expectations
it really annoys me
our fingers neatly wrapped around the black pens in our hands
drawing, doodling, writing
it doesn't matter what
we're the only ones that know our true childish innocence
the innocence that no longer exists in any human