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."

Are You The Trapped?

I have seen The Trapped.
I see her, frantically rushing to complete everything on the level that she sets for herself, because she wouldn't be able to live with herself if it wasn't.
Inside, she is so scared of taking a single wrong step, that would send her whole tower of righteousness that she spent so long building tumbling down.
She doesn't know that I watch her, getting inside her mind.
I see her inner sigh, panicking in front of her computer. She fakes serenity, to reassure the ones that aren't watching.
One day, I heard her in the bathroom stall when the rest of the students were at Connections. She was singing softly to herself, being her only comfort to herself.
She's trapped inside her own, harsh evaluations.
I watch her struggling at her lockers, eyes and hands too uncoordinated to open it, because her mind itself is too far off. When it finally springs open, her books and work come tumbling out, and I see her near-let out frustration, the silent scream. But she regains it.
No one has noticed but me. And I notice one more thing.
A composition book, cow skin, as normal as possible, which she leaves behind.
I pick it up, again unnoticed.
The Trapped has a way to let out herself. In words. To the only One she trusts.
The Trapped writes her prayers, giving herself all up to God.

I'm that girl.

I'm that girl.
The girl that you don't notice at school, yet inside she's dying.
The girl that slinks down in her bus seat, feigning sleep but really listening.
The girl in school that is quiet in the corner, with an actual mind.
The girl with the unthinkable knowledge that is underestimated because of the hate in the world.
The girl that watches from the sidelines, because she is ignored.
The girl that cries in her dreams.
The girl that sees all. All that is hidden.

I have seen betrayals concealed under friendships.
The hatred concealed by love.
The fear concealed by confidence.
The souls concealed by hearts.
The thoughts concealed by words.
The pressure concealed by encouragement.
The need concealed by the want.

To some it will come as a slap in the face.
To some you will nod as you read, believing you are exempt from everything I say.
But everyone is guilty.
Some will not realize their own hypocrisy.
Some will not want to change, hanging on to their stubbornness like a child to his mother's skirt.

I have found my voice, and will finally reveal it all.
With every Character that I write with, with every word that I write.
This is my revenge.
I will reveal what I have seen.
For I have seen...
The Awful Truth.