something i wrote that i realize is true

I sit here in this corner, alone. I look around at the people, yet they don’t look at me. Dressed in black, they meaninglessly burn leaves and sticks just for the smell it exerts. Play fights, name-calling, teasing, all an everyday ritual. It’s as if to be able to be with them, you must participate. Must dress alike, like the same music, act as immature as the person next to them. You all try to be unique and different from everyone else. You try so hard that you don’t, you’re all alike. Try to be different, yet you’re still like the rest. Still like everyone around you. Disagreements blown out of proportion turned into violence. The everyday life of a teenager. Yet I’m not a normal teenager. I try to teach others violence isn’t the answer, drugs are wrong, they mess up the rest of your life after being used once. Yet who all listens to me and my passive, soft voice? Not the people in front of me. Smoke, drink, do drugs to make their reputation look better. I am used to this sort of isolation. Never getting along with my fellow peers. Never choose the reckless decisions that you decide to do with your life. Am I becoming a good citizen of society? Maybe. But I do know that I am who I want to be. I don’t do things to please others. I do things for me. The crowd before me has dispersed, all except two girls. Young girls they are (fifteen) yet they do drugs and are proud of it. I do not judge them yet they judge and criticize me. Criticize my thoughts, actions, and what I say. I do not understand why they feel the need to put others down and make them feel less than them. Inferior. The smell of burning wood has been drifted away by the wind. Carried off and left like my immaturity. My ability to be able to joke around with the people around me at the high school. Thoughts of suicide running through minds of various teenagers. Do adults listen to the small cries of help they silently scream? They think it’s teen angst. All until someone does take their life. Until someone feels they can’t live anymore. They don’t believe they will amount to anything. Others acting superior to them, saying they have problems. Do people really think that by telling someone they psychological problems, it’s going to make them feel better? Make them want to live more? It makes them feel hopeless. People around me are told this multiple times as they are growing up. They find sanctity in drugs and alcohol. Find others who feel the same way. Feed off of them in order to make their lives better. I realize why I sit in this corner, alone, unnoticed. I’m not like them. I’m more mature than they are, grown up faster than them. They feel as if they can pick me up and drop me whenever they feel like, like a string puppet. Stick a needle in me like a voodoo doll. Toss me into this little corner like a rag doll. Yet I let them. If I stand up to them, they’ll shoot me down like a hunter does to birds. So I sit here alone and think of them. Living up to stereotypes and eventually going along with everyone else in this country. Patriotic, religious, robotic in nature. I say leave me in this corner for I am better off with the knowledge I know, and others have not yet begun to realize the true proximity of their opportunities.