My Cloak

every day the kids in the the classrooms hold conversations like it's no problem.


they talk over my head like I'm not there. from time to time I'll arrive early and one student will enter and say, "there's no one in here." that's me. I'm the no one. but it's a choice, I mutter over and over until I start to believe it. I sit at my desk and await the professor to approach the stage.


I look at the faces and I listen to the lectures, but I don't speak out because I have a label.


"it's too late," I tell myself. everyone already sees you as you wish to be. it was four years ago that I branded myself with this name, "nobody."


it's hard to let go of the image of the past and I've let it define me. I'm the quiet girl, the creepy girl, the crazy girl. the girl who has no friends and can't speak in public without her tongue getting caught in her throat.


she turns beet red when called on.


it was never meant to be this way. in the comfort of my room I pour my soul into my work so I can feel significant in this world of Katies and Sarahs and Marys. so I can be relevant in my community without ever uttering a word. the cloak I wear everyday doesn't change color. navy is the color of my words and my actions, it's mundane and pointless and irrelevant.


I stick out like a thorn on a perfect flower. like a puddle of mud out in a room full of bright, shining, yellow cloaks. I tell myself this is an intentional attempt to be someone I'm not, so I can get lost in the crowd, so no one compliments me or speaks to me little longer than to ask for a pencil they dropped on the floor.


it's the girl who never speaks. it's the social pariah who breathes but never lives. in the comfort of my room I curl up on the floor and feel the humiliation crawl under my skin. it buries itself in my subconscious and doesn't let go. tomorrow I'll do it again. I'll make good grades and I'll do what I'm told, but I won't change my outfit. my cloak will remain.


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