For the first time..

I am in a class called lively writing, and our teacher gave us starter sentences, this is what i came up with. (everything stated in this work is true about me)

For the first time ever someone listened.

It was no use pretending people cared.

I wish i had said how broken i was.

It was no use pretending i was fine.

I'm not. I might be loud, obnoxious and happy on the outside, but on the inside its a struggle when something sharp is in my reach. Or a fire is going. Its a struggle to be around ice and salt. (A/N salt + ice =Burning skin)

I struggle with myself. My scars all tell stories. The one carved into my leg, "lazy" the other "b***h" s**t, w***e, they all live in my skin, though old they are constant reminders of how people truly effect me. How everyday is a struggle. Everyday before i leave my house i take a deep breath to prepare myself for the slaughterhouse that is school. And some days i'm too far gone to stop myself. Though old, my scars still crawl on my skin, the one from the back of my hand to my elbow flushes red when i get angry. The scars on my wrist from my mother, the ones from my classmates "poking" and "tapping" me with pencils or any other object remain as a reminder, people are evil.