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Description
This is the abridged version of a journey. This is poetry.

[_] Because all stories must start somewhere. Here is birth.

[IV] I was never well-liked at school. I did nothing wrong. This was the beginning of a trend.

[VII] I made a friend on my own. Six months of make believe. Pottery kits and dreams of mosaics, painted in the air by the wall while the boys played football behind us. The other girls thought we were babies.

[VIII] I moved two hemispheres. North and west to south and east. This changed little. I had a new friend.

[IX] But she left. This was supposed to be more poetic. I made another.

[X] Tripled. We were dogs, and prisoners, and piggy-backed around the field. Mud pies and dolphin necklaces. My nerve broke at high jump after the bar went too high just once. It took me years to make myself jump again. I still wasn't liked. They're just snobs. They're just jealous. My mother couldn't be wrong about this.

[XI] Only one came with me. The other two were stuck behind for a year. It was almost a fresh start. I was no longer hated for nothing I didn't do. This was an improvement.

[XII] Added another, two came back. Four friends in total; a new record. Then one went away for a week, one found other friends, and the two closest forgot to be friends with me. One week was long enough for my first creeping thought. Mother was not right. It was born for the attention they forgot to give, and spread like poison through my brain.

[XIII] LISTEN TO ME I AM RIGHT HERE WHY CAN'T YOU SEE ME?

[XIV] I thought I learned to write. I don't need you I don't need you I'll find someone else why can no one see me.

[XV (i)] I actually learned to write. Perfection was not enough. "I want to be invisible." "Become more like me." Disappointment. I thought you could see me...

[XV (ii)] He looked at me and he meant it. I don't deserve this. I can't hurt him.

[XVI (i)] Not good enough not good enough not good enough. Razor blades in the shower. A white line on my arm and my leg.

[XVI (ii)] Drowned my monster in the sea. Love nudged me back to confidence. I broke depression. I broke depressive habits. I jumped over the bar again.

[XVII (i)] I accept me. I am something to be proud of. I forgot how to write. I learned how to art.

[XVII (ii)] This is an abridged version of a journey. This is not poetry. This is art.

Description
This is the abridged version of a journey. This is poetry.

[_] Because all stories must start somewhere. Here is birth.

[IV] I was never well-liked at school. I did nothing wrong. This was the beginning of a trend.

[VII] I made a friend on my own. Six months of make believe. Pottery kits and dreams of mosaics, painted in the air by the wall while the boys played football behind us. The other girls thought we were babies.

[VIII] I moved two hemispheres. North and west to south and east. This changed little. I had a new friend.

[IX] But she left. This was supposed to be more poetic. I made another.

[X] Tripled. We were dogs, and prisoners, and piggy-backed around the field. Mud pies and dolphin necklaces. My nerve broke at high jump after the bar went too high just once. It took me years to make myself jump again. I still wasn't liked. They're just snobs. They're just jealous. My mother couldn't be wrong about this.

[XI] Only one came with me. The other two were stuck behind for a year. It was almost a fresh start. I was no longer hated for nothing I didn't do. This was an improvement.

[XII] Added another, two came back. Four friends in total; a new record. Then one went away for a week, one found other friends, and the two closest forgot to be friends with me. One week was long enough for my first creeping thought. Mother was not right. It was born for the attention they forgot to give, and spread like poison through my brain.

[XIII] LISTEN TO ME I AM RIGHT HERE WHY CAN'T YOU SEE ME?

[XIV] I thought I learned to write. I don't need you I don't need you I'll find someone else why can no one see me.

[XV (i)] I actually learned to write. Perfection was not enough. "I want to be invisible." "Become more like me." Disappointment. I thought you could see me...

[XV (ii)] He looked at me and he meant it. I don't deserve this. I can't hurt him.

[XVI (i)] Not good enough not good enough not good enough. Razor blades in the shower. A white line on my arm and my leg.

[XVI (ii)] Drowned my monster in the sea. Love nudged me back to confidence. I broke depression. I broke depressive habits. I jumped over the bar again.

[XVII (i)] I accept me. I am something to be proud of. I forgot how to write. I learned how to art.

[XVII (ii)] This is an abridged version of a journey. This is not poetry. This is art.