The hallway thrummed, a human river,

bodies surging past, backpack clutched
like shield. But every glance felt like a searchlight,
unveiling the wrongness in the way I walk,
the way my chest sits, a truth I can’t erase.
Whispers snaked through the current, words
I shouldn’t have to know at this age,enomous and hot on my skin. Laughter flickered,
a cruel spotlight on the way I hold myself,
trying to be invisible, a ghost in the crowd.
Teachers stand like islands in the chaos,
seemingly oblivious to the riptide of hate
pulling me under. Their smiles are for the others,
the ones who fit the mold, not the anomaly
trying desperately to navigate this hostile sea.
Books clutched tight, a lifeline against the storm,
I press on, each step a defiant whisper,
“I am here. I belong.” But the echo
sounds hollow, lost in the indifference,
a silent scream in a world that doesn’t see.