I’m always left out. Every time I volunteer to help somebody I usually get told to sit and watch, or just sit and keep guard, or just wait for the others. I’m not really sure how to change that. I think I’ll always be left out. Because deep down I don’t know what being let in feels like.
A look through the glass makes me feel like I’m on show.
I’ve never felt as small as you make me feel.
The murmurs of talk, as you walk away fill my stomach with a sickness that I’ve known my whole life.
The sickness expands filling my lungs until I can’t breath,
my throat fills and my words are hushed as the sickness reaches my head.
Overflowing and streaming down my neck to a place where it gathers on the floor beside me.
I look down, seeing myself but not realizing.
I’m actually looking up and remembering the girl who once sat where I sat.
That was a long time ago now, that almost never happened.
The sickness is all I’ve known.