(no subject)

I am a person

I am the person you bullied at school,

I am the person who didn’t know how to be cool.

I’m the person that you alienated,

I’m the person you ridiculed and hated.

I am the person, who sat on her own,

I am the person who walked home alone.

I am the person you scared every day,

I am the person who had nothing to say.

I am the person with hurt in his eyes,

I am the person you never saw cry.

I am the person living alone with his fears,

I am the person destroyed by his peers.

I am the person, who drowned in your scorn,

I am the person who wished she hadn’t been born.

I am the person you destroyed for fun,

I am the person, but not the only one.

I’m the person whose name you didn’t know,

I’m the person who just can’t let go.

I’m the person, who has feelings to,

I am the person, just like you.

ooc:I did not write this, it's from an anti bullying advert. I just feel it applies to this muse
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What would people say if they knew the real me?
I mean deep down inside the true me?
What I like
The way I feel…
But they don’t.

No-one really knows the real me,
This person screaming out trying to be heard,
The me that is muffled by the person everyone sees.
The mask,
A character or a role I play out,
Can I really be myself?

At home alone I think of how people would view me
If they knew the truth…
The real me
My soul, me,
On view to the world,
Would they treat me the same?

Would they care as much?
Worry as much?
I don’t know.
People can be fickle sometimes,
They play a role too,
Never showing their true colours.

They say the world is a stage,
I would agree.
Everyone playing a part,
Never showing their true feelings,
Their real self.

Why do we do this?
We’re scared,
No-one wants to be judged for who they are
Ridiculed for being themselves,
So they begin to play out a role,
The role society has mapped out,
For them,
A mask
A visage.

. ..and then the cops came...

I remember they were doing this, going around the local villages, moving door to door to take statements from everyone in the local area including myself and my family. I can't remember exactly how old I was, sixteen, maybe seventeen, but this wasn't the first time I'd given a statement to the police before.

That was when my friend got attacked in a bar, or was that the second time I gave a statement and this the first. I can't remember. Memories get so jumbled up at times.

Anyway, I remember when they came, knocking on the door and asking to come inside. I knew I'd not done anything wrong but there was that niggling doubt in the back of my mind that I might say something stupid or somehow make myself accountable for something. But I didn't. They just asked the usual questions.

Name, age, address, where were you on the night in question?

Night in question, they couldn't even say it and I didn't even want to think about it. A murder, they couldn't even say it, murder. A boy of twelve went missing on his way home and was found the next day 50 miles away, strangled to death. That boy, that poor boy was friends of some children I used to babysit; my mum had once been his dinner lady while she still was on. The boy went missing from the village next to mine.

You never forget things like that, the sad looks behind the professional faces of the police, that worry that flares inside you because this has happened so close to home, the sadness that it's actually someone you might have met without realise it.

No, I remember the date now. I was seventeen, I'd spent the weekend at a carnival having a good time with friends, and this boy had lost his life. I'll never forget that, not having to make a statement for a murder investigation.