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The Artist

By lightbearer, North Bloomfield, OH

I’m ashamed if what I have become
I wish I were different, especially in one way
It seems like everything and everybody changes
Once they hit high school
We are separated and classified into different categories
But I don’t feel like I have a group
I feel like I’m on the island of misfit toys
Without any hope of being noticed or wanted
I immerse myself into my books, trying to avoid the emptiness
And that seems to work, but only for a little while
When I meet their gazes in the hall, I see my reflection in the glazed eyes
Rejection
Among the class, I fall into the group know as “the artists”
People say it’s my imagination or don’t worry about it

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