As I wander the crowded halls of my middle school I cannot deny my hope.
The hope that someone will notice me, acknowledge me, talk to me.
But as I reach the entrance to my class the hopes are once again crushed.
It does not hurt me though, I have learned to ignore these feelings.
Feelings of pain and torment, knowing that I will never be accepted.

I enter the classroom, taking my seat in the back as usual.
The teacher calls my name, I raise my hand wishing someone would meet my eyes.
That is the only time in the day my existence is acknowledged, during attendance.
By now even the teachers do not call on me, knowing I will say nothing.
I sit and listen, watching the clock, waiting for my day to be over.

The bell rings and I race out of the building, welcoming the end of the school day.
As I walk home I envy the people with friends to walk home with.
This is my favorite time of day, because though I am alone I am not being ignored.
I enter my house and go to my room knowing that my aunt will not be home.
My aunt ignores me like everyone else, taking care of me only as a favor to my mother.
Who along with my father and brother died in the fire, the fire that left me, alone.