It's haunting me again,
this painfulness of lonliness,
it's this cloud that surrounds,
that just sinks me into sadness.

I have lot's of good friends at school,
But lot's of them don't wait,
to go to classes, or to talk,
I'm sure it's not a mistake.

For the first time I cannot express my feelings,
For the first time you won't understand,
"I do wait for you!" you'll say,
and this'll make me sad. 

At break I'm alone outside,
at lunch the table's silent,
only afterschool I feel better,
but I still feel isolated.

"Why am I invisible?" I ask,
"You're not" they will respond,
but deep deep deep inside my heart,
I don't even exist.

That's why this random cloud,
this random cloud of darkness,
is swishing here, and there,
surrounding me wherever I go.

It sinks me into this mess,
of problems that don't exist,
that I invent,
And I eventually feel depressed.

Why am I writing this?
Why am I writing random words?
But again, I still have this random invisible cloud,
following me wherever I go.

Do you think
I don't notice
When you laugh at me?

Do you think
I feel fine
When I feel awful?

Do you think
I can take
Anymore of this?

The anwser is no.
So listen up.
Listen to me.
Think about it.

Sometimes I look at the world,
And think,
Wow.

What have we done
To this beautiful sphere
Of life and vibrancy?

We have reduced to a burning wreck
Where war rages
And crimes are commited
And nature is destroyed.

You say, that's harsh.
Do you know what's harsh?
A football field of trees gone
Every second.
Every minute.
Every DAY.

People crying when they know
Someone they love
Will never come home.

People who steal and snatch,
Most of them have to because, otherwise
They'll starve.

That's harsh.

She steps into the rain,
hopeless, knowing that no one will help her.
She can't manage but who cares?
She is alone in pouring rain.

Click read more to read the rest of the poem.

There are many places in this world,
who have people with things they don't deserve,
like famine, poorness, bombs and killing,
meanness, angriness, starvation, hitting.

When we leave food on our plate,
that must be how much they ate,
in maybe a week or two,
how can we know if this is true ?

We don't know how much we're lucky,
for them, our left overs, would be plenty,
that would fill them for a week,
and would be the food that they would seek,
for their lifetimes and even more,
however someday they'lll be at our door !!!

Poor them, won't we help ?
We do, we try,
but it's too much,
Oh my, oh my...