Chapter 1; poem of a cutter.
My whole life I've been an outcast, a weird-o, a freak, a misunderstood shy girl with no real friends or goals in life. My family thinks I'm mentally ill and most of the time they don't even acknowledge my presence, the few times they do is when there making fun of me or yelling at me for something small that I didn't do. My mom likes to punish me in ways a bit more harsher then my siblings such as; when they get a slap in the mouth for saying something they shouldn't have I get a slap in the mouth and a slap on every spot my skin shows.
At school I'm literally invisible, my teachers don't even know my name and when I get called out the whole class will look in wonder because they have no idea who I am. I get run over in the halls and when I yell at the person to watch it they act as if I never even said anything.
I only have one friend, Nudge, and scene were not in any of the same classes and never talk outside of school other than texting sometimes I fell as if she doesn't even remember who I am. My theory can be proven by the way I'll walk up to her, say something and her not even turn around at the sound of my voice. A lot of times I can't tell if she's ignoring me or if she doesn't remember me.
Over the past few months I've started to be known around my classes as "emo girl" because about a year ago I fell into a deep depression that left me filling nothing but sadness and filled my head with a lot of suicidal thoughts. And yes, despite how much I deny it, I do cut myself and when I say cut myself I don't mean a few slices here and there I mean it has become a very bad habit of mine. I do it a lot!
There has been a few times when I've tried to kill myself threw the power of cutting but luckily I've only been hospitalized once. I hit a vain in my left wrist and passed out from blood loss on my bed. When I woke up I was in a blinding white room with an IV for both medication and blood, the only person there was my uncle, Jeff, who found me while he came over to get something that my mom had left for him.
He promised not to tell anyone because he knew how bad it would hurt me if anyone found out. He told my parents that I had slipped and cut my "hand" on a piece of broken metal in the back yard near the shed. They believed him and a month ago he passed away from a freak heart-attack taking my decret with him.
My name is Max by the way -Max Ride-and I'm fifteen, I spend most of my days reading books and writing poetry. If you take away the "emo" part of me then I'm pretty much just a negative, shy girl who's pretty lost in the word.
-MR-
I look up from my history book and into the eyes of an angry Joseph Peterson his blue orbs stare down at me with aggravated rage.
I raise one of my pierced eyebrows and offer a small smile. This results in him sighing hugely and shaking his head slowly.
"You've been in this room for almost an hour and you have yet to do anything! May I remind you that finials are in a week Ms. Ride and by the look of your grades you can't afford to lack around and not do anything! Today's work is worth 45% of you final grade so I suggest you do it!" his voice got no louder than a high whisper but from the way his voice peaked at siren points made me realize that he wasn't joking.
I sighed softly and nodded my head. He was right, finals were in a week and even if I aced the test I'll be lucky to pass with a solid D.
I used to be a straight A student always on honor roll and being a good little nerd. But ever since that first wave of depression hit my grades have slipped and so has my attitude. I changed from being a good little quiet nerd to a girl with a bad attitude, horrible grades and the slight obsession of cutting.
I run my fingers threw my dirty blond hair and begin to copy the twenty-five vocabulary words on the board. The whole time I can fill Mr. P's eyes boring into the side of my head.
When the bell rings half an hour later almost all of my work is done and I rush of relief floods threw my body.
"I finished most of it," I say to Mr. Peterson as I hand in my work.
He gives me a weird look before nodding his head and dismissing me with the wave of his hand. As I leave the room I don't miss the way he scribbles something down on a sticky note and attaches it to my work.
At least I tried! I scream in my head.
The trip to my next class goes down like a bunny trying to make it threw a pack of hyper cheetahs. To say the least I got trappeled.
By the time I get to English the class has already started reading the poems we were supposed to write for a pre-final. The inter class stares at me with my ripped skinny jeans, My Darkest Days t-shirt, pierced lip and eyebrows, all the way to my beat-up Converses.
I keep my head down as I walk to my seat in the very back of the room.
English happens to be the one class I really like because 90% of the time we mostly just write and read stories. Plus on days like today when it's time to read something out loud that we had to write ourselves I like to sit back and silently mock the kids who can't write for shit.
Now I know you must be thinking how I save myself from speaking out loud to the entry class. Well the answers simple; I blend into the shadows until class is over and hand in my paper with the rest of the kids who didn't get a chance to read out loud that day.
It's the middle of January and so far this school year we've had eight writings that we were supposed to present to the class and I haven't had to speak a one of them yet.
I turn my attention to the guy reading his poem. Jason Oliver aka "Fang". Looking at the kid you'd think that he's as "emo" as me; with his jet black hair, coal eyes, olive skin and clothing that only consist only of the colors black, grey, and red. But nope! Despite his mysterious bad boy image this guy is quite the people person. Honestly I can't see how, he almost never talks and when he does its sarcastic and senseless. And to tell the truth he's actually a humongous jackass.
"The stones turn black with ever bad mistake, and I don't know how to get there bright color back. I'm afraid that if I try to hard then they'll crumble in my hands like ash…" what I heard was only the very end so it didn't make any since to me but still I gave him a little credit because it sounded like it had some type of meaning to it.
The whole class clapped for him, he handed in his paper and took his set in the back a few rows over from me.
The room was silent as Mr. Kimberling clapped his hands together and scanned the crowd of students. His eyes fell on me for a few seconds longer than anyone else and an evil look crossed his hairy face.
"You," he said pointing at me, "you were late to class so you can read second!"
No! No, No, No!
I fill my heart speed up in my chest and suddenly I felt as if I had swallowed a bag of cotton balls.
As I grabbed a random poem from my book bag I could fell the sweat fill my open palms.
I walk to the front of the room filling every pair of eyes as they stare into my body.
I unfold the paper in my hand and fill my heart catch in my throat; the title says "My Obsession" on the front. This is probably my most personal poem I have.
"Um…can I go get a different paper?" I whisper ask the teacher.
He takes it from my hands and reads it over quickly, "No this is a beautiful poem. Read it. Now!"
I look over all the faces in front of me and I know what there think; who is this? What's she doing up there? That's the emo girl! Etc.
I take deep breath and in a shaky voice begin to read;
"Roses are red violets are blue, I don't understand the things I do. My mind tells me one thing my heart anther, if only I could stop the cutting.
Roses are red violets are blue my pain is not for you,
Under the pillow and beneath the sheets is a secreat meant to be hidden, away from the clouds, away from the wind, away from the eyes that bore into my skin.
I don't know what to do; I don't know what to say, does that mean I've lost all hope?
Roses are red violets are blue, so is the vain that I cut into, just like the petals on a rose my skin is fragile, smooth, soft and easy to shred…
It's become a drug to me like heroin or meth, SO easy to become attached to and even harder to rid of.
All around me people laugh, smile, and enjoy the world they have, while I sit and stare- not At them but at the clear, clean air. Looking for something to keep me going I geuss.
I don't always fill this way but when I do it hits me hard!
Like a great tsunami splashing down on a small village with as much force as a 9,000 ton hand, over and over and over again until finally there is nothing left but rubble and broken dreams of hope.
Roses are red violets are blue I am breaking into two. One side of me says to not, to prove to all those who thought nothing of me that I am something.
To think of all the scars that I'll have to cover up with bracelets, long selves and makeup. To remember what will happen if I slip up and let the long deep scares show or cut to deep; rage, sadness filled tears and confusion, death.
The other side says yes go ahead. Think of all the anger you'll be letting go. Think of all the wonderful bright warm blood that you'll see. Think of how its letting you fill something that no one else can…
Roses are red violets are blue I don't know which side to choose..." when I finish my voice is shacking and I fill like hiding in a deep dark whole.
The room is silent for the longest time and just when I think they're going to start booing and throwing stuff at me the whole entire class brakes out in to a loud round of applause.
Leaving both mortified and confused, as I stand there filling like throwing up.
A/N; hey guys. This story is based on my life only I little sadder. Like max I do cut myself and her filling will be very close if not the same as mine threw out the story.
The poem max read is an Emily original that I wrote a few days ago…read and review!
XXEmilyXX