I wrote this poem as a good bye present to my peers of four years, I read it in front of the whole auditorium, it was filled to the brim with 3 grades of students. This is my response to all those years of back handed sneers for my choice of black clothing and metal spikes.



Don't judge a book by its cover,

It was a phrase I had heard many times before,

I knew its moral, and I followed it.


But some things you know better than other people do, because you yourself have experienced it.

I follow its moral, more than you know.

But some people don't follow it at all.


I find it strange, knowing I have tons of friends,

Or rather, I had.

I thought I did.


The moment I showed my true colors, my actual self,

First they distanced themselves, the other children,

But then they just outright shunned me, all pretenses dropped.


My book cover is different, unique, a one of a kind.

These are the polite definitions I hear from teachers and

from my friends.


Freak, weird, strange, and creepy.

I have heard them on more than one occasion.

I hear them in the hallways.

I hear them in classrooms.

Those words relentlessly follow me everywhere.

This hateful vocabulary is used by my old 'friends'.


From my classmates, on more than one account, people I have never even spoken to.

But one thing I know is that

They are all the same person.


All the same ideas.

All the same clothes.

A sea of Abercrombies, Fitches, & Aeropostales.

I am the odd one out.

The outcast.


You only know who are your true friends, when they accept you for who you are. Whether your clothing is light or dark.

You're still the same person on the inside, right?

Sometimes I feel like they've won,

That they have finally convinced me, that I truly am a freak.


I have never lost so many people I cared about.

But they left me, one after the other.

All because they didn't like my cover.

All because they didn't look pass the black clothing.


But, if they had looked at me for just a few more seconds,

They would have seen that I was still the same person,

That I hadn't changed as much as they thought I did.


No one turned around,

No one looked back,

They just kept walking.


And yet, What right do they have to judge me for who I am?

I am my own person!

They do not control me.


I now understand the moral of the saying; I now follow it with all my heart!

I wont let other people receive the same cruel treatment I did.


I will be there for anyone and everyone.

I don't care who they are, what they've done, or how they dress.

Because I don't judge.

And I never will.