I Am The Underdog

I am The Underdog.
I am the one that is suppressed.
I am the one that is expected of neutrality because I have been nominated as the one most likely to put up with hatred.
I am the one that doesn't know if outbursting would be betrayal.
I am the one that screams inside, because anyone knows I couldn't, wouldn't, outside.
I am the one that is constantly being pushed down by those who believe they can do so much better than me.
I am the one who is afraid to admit that I am more than what the world thinks.
I am who is tired of being continuously belittled because I don't measure up to their superficial judgments!
I am the one who waits... Because I can't stand to imagine what would happen if I don't.
I am The Underdog.

I can't separate the lies from the truth. Only words are fed to me. And the occasional action when I'm needed. And the thoughts. I can hear all the thoughts. In the simplest of movements, I can see beneath their eyes, what they really think of me. What am I? Just a tool? Am I only someone to be summoned when needed, and discarded with use? And every time I seem to find someone that I can trust, whom I think I can trust, they simply press delete.

And now, I just still haven't learned. Now, I'm still tagging along. Saved as a distraction for targeted embarrassment, or as a procrastination tool, a way to work without working, or as a stuffed figure, used only for my presence. I haven't told anyone. Because I can't. What would happen if I did? I would get several various scoldings for overreacting and lectures of "This is not like you"s, but then they would forget, and I would go back to this. This. Crying in my sleep and slowly going insane.

So I console myself. I put all these things I would say, but never have, all the thoughts that I let pent up. I put them all down. They are my "Things Unsaid."

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."