Are You The Underdog?

I have seen The Underdog.
She is the one that is alone.
She is the one that others notice, yet ignore.
She is the one that is used.
She is the one that seems like too much of a hassle to help, so they don't.
She is the one that is so much like me, yet is still blind. Even she is.

I see her. The class is divided up into group projects. I am the only one that sees her ever so slightly cringe at the mention of her name with the other girls. Through the rest of the class period, she is the one doing all the work, while the others gossip. Wow, she's a great actress. Of course she laughs along with them, and sort of mentions, off to the side, that she's kind of doing everything. The others don't get it, do they? I see her, and for a moment when she doesn't realize I'm looking, I see her eyes flare with rage quickly. But she recovers herself. Because she is not known as that kind of girl. Oh, Underdog, I feel your pain, yet even you don't recognize me.

And I see her again. With her acclaimed best friend, the precious one. She treats The Underdog like trash. But oh, she's used to succumbing to others. So used to it that she doesn't notice that she should complain. She only tucks her bits and pieces of anger inside, deep down, to save. And when it grows too big, I know that she will explode.

I wait for the day that The Underdog is able to get her justice again. She's such an underestimated girl, if she truly speaks her mind, so many will be blown away. She has a voice. She doesn't realize it, but it is the most powerful.

But she has a somewhat idea. Maybe. I see those crumpled pieces of notebook paper, blue lines smeared from the tears she cries. She puts it all down, using that tactic we know so well to cling to sanity. Writing everything down, forcing secrets from pen. I find them everywhere. In the trash can where nobody else cares to look. Crammed in the edges of bus seats. Shoved in abandoned desks. I find them. I find her "Things Unsaid."