Preps. Conformists. Posers. Posers accusing other posers of being posers.

The world can be a crappy place.

Gotcha! I'm not going to waste my time just lecturing about that. Because I have a secret to tell: no one cares. The only people that usually care are the people who have had the same problems. Of course, there is always that rare person with an actual kind heart, who actually gives a damn about things.

As for me? Until last year, I wasn't one for politics. I could've cared less. But sometimes, life forces you into a position where you have to start caring.

Should I tell you this? No. Am I going to tell you anyway? Absolutely.

It was a warm, sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky. The physical sky, at least. In my mind a storm raged, raindrops splashing down upon my brain. Splat.

I hadn't dawned on me until the day before: people really hate us. We're not 'normal', apparently. I was walking down the street with my best girlfriend and my best guy friend, when I saw four boys from my high school who had cornered a little middle school girl dressed all in black.

My guy friend, Dylan, walked over and motioned for them to walk away. "C'mon, guys, cut it out."

They snickered at him. Called him things like 'Emo Trash'. I could feel my hands balling into fists. Not only were they insulting one of my best friends, but they were torturing some poor little girl who probably hadn't done anything. All because of the way we were dressed. The girl's eyes were wide and frightened, and her black fingernails were cutting into her palms. I motioned for her to run over to Kiki and I while Dylan had those boys distracted. She nodded and hurried over to us, her books clutched tightly to her chest, her black-and-green backpack bouncing and her violin bumping against her knees as she tried to hold it along with her other school items.

After about twenty minutes of arguing, the guys finally left. The girl gave us a quiet thank you and hurried away.

So, there I was, the day after, minding my own business. About to step into school. Then this little red convertible zoomed past and a Wendy's baked potato flew out the window and exploded all over my front. Perfect.

I could hear laughter as the car sped away, screams of 'whore' and 'Satanist' and 'hooker' following me through the front double-doors of my high school.

Now, I'm not the only one who was bullied. There are kids and even adults who are bullied every day. Bullied because of who they are, how they dress, and how they think.

People bully just to bully sometimes, yes. But they also bully because they are insecure. But never once do they think of just how much their actions can hurt someone.

That kid you see getting bullied at school? His mom died. Maybe he's abused. Suppose he's gone through a crisis sometime in his life, maybe more than once, maybe recently.

If he ever goes missing, remind yourself of all the ifs that could've or couldn't have been. Think of whether or not you ever tried to help him. Wonder what happened to him, whether he ran away or if he was murdered or committed suicide, or if her was in some terrible and potentially fatal accident.

Do you feel guilty yet?