As I sat there with a pile of paper on my orange desk
I look up to see people at their own orange desks
Some had their heads over the white papers
Some still invading the content of it.
They're all different
Different sizes, different skin tone, different current position, different hair,
and from what I see -
Different looks on their faces.
I wonder what their stories are
What they have been through
What goes through their minds
How their morning started and what they ate for breakfast.
I see a girl who gets picked on a lot, despite of her efficiency and obvious genius trait
She's worried, of her grades
Because that's all she cares and wants to care about
She wants to be on top, all the time
And she strives to be actually liked one day by all these insensitives
I guess you can blame the odor.
There are a few people I feel sorry for
I see their weak points while everyone else make fun of it
It is terribly unfair.
People can be so unforgivable sometimes, the things they do and the things they say
The meanest of people, however, are the most insecure
They are the most sensitive ones, so timid on the inside
So they put masks on, believing it would cover and give them a certain power
Cowards.
There's nothing wrong with being scared, what's not right is by hiding all the emotions and layering it with something else
You'll go nowhere with that.
So I'm running out of space and my thoughts are to be kept quiet now
I'll continue sitting silently here then
Figuring out people, wondering about their lives.
1253 PM
