They laughed at the way he looked—
his clothes a little worn,
hair never quite sitting right,
like he'd missed the memo
he didn't understand yet,
but he understood the sting.
no one picked him at recess,
the way desks felt colder
of pretending not to care,
so the time would disappear.
He studied how they laughed,
how they traded jokes like currency
He'd ask himself quietly,
in a world that loved symmetry.
At night, he'd lie in bed
and imagine what it felt like
He learned the language of power—
how to insult just deep enough
and far too hot to get close to.
So he made others feel it.
*His smile was a costume.
he taped together every morning.*
He made fun of the loners—
but hated himself for it.
he'd see someone sitting alone,
Part III — The Mirror Room
between sleep and memory.
The quiet one sat in the dark,
The loud one looked away.
"I had to. No one liked you."
"You didn't like me either."
"Because you were honest."
"Because you didn't pretend."
"And I miss what you became."
"Because you had people."
They looked at each other.
One buried beneath the surface,
the other split open for the world.
"I wish I could be like you,"