the miserable life of a miserable teenager -
chapter sixteen - statistics
Dear famous people, fuck you.
Sincerely, the others.
Was I not pretty enough?
Not funny enough?
Doesn’t matter, I wasn’t enough.
I’m not enough.
I’ll always be another invisible,
anonymous trash.
Some days, I wish my parents had exploited me as a kid to be a child star.
So I would have something, you know?
But they didn't. Hold the applause,
go back a few chapters.
What’s the point of celebrities? To show us what we should be? Shouldn’t be? What we’re not? The terrible conditions we live in?
Nobody knows me.
Nobody cares about me.
If I went missing, wouldn’t even make the news. When I die, I’ll just be another suicide statistic.
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