The Fragile Egg...
Sitting here in this room, it seems as if it somehow shifts and moves? It makes me tremble
and shake…as I naw on what little nails I have left, in an errant attempt to calm down my
razor thin nerves. Reflecting back on my ride home on the bus, those other kids they never
seem to stop chattering and laughing at me…I know that their all talking about me. I press
my face so hard against that bus window, I know when I got off you could still see my face
print and could count each of those ugly pimples that cover my face. Mom say it’s just an
awkward stage in a preteens life and that it will pass…But Mom and Dad are not the ones
who are biting their nails, an shaking like leaf at the very thought of having to go back to
school the next day and there not the one’s with a face that look like it’s a part of a bumpy
old rollercoaster ride. I’m no different than those other kids, I just want to be like and be the
best me I can be in this life…instead , I sit around just like a fragile egg dangling on the edge
of the kitchen counter top, just waiting to fall and break. I should be out having fun but I
just sit here in my room on the edge of my bed crying on the verge of a nervous breakdown
with my dad’s old Saturday night special gun clenched tightly in my sweaty palm.
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