Misfit

• Alana Pritchard,
• Poetry
• 2007

They sit in thier own spot.
Thier perfectness screaming out.
The laughs of hatred.
Oh how i wish i could be like them.
The bell rings.
They all get into thier fancy cars and drive away.
I am left, left alone.
Alone with no one to care for me.
As i walk along the path home i hear a cry.
It is one of them.
Whats wrong with her.
She lifts her head and suddenly i realise she isn't that perfect.
she is just like me a MISFIT