I can't cry
I can't cry. So I let the false rain pour over my bare shoulders, holding my knees to my chest...holding myself together.
I remember as a child, I didn't care much about my appearance. I never brushed my hair, and it was always tied back in an infinite pony-tail. My clothes had tears all over, from carelessly wandering outside. I was klutzy, too, so there were many scars to match the tears in my clothes. Aside from the tears, my wardrobe was a mess. Not that I cared, I wore whatever I could get my small hands on the quickest.
I'm not sure if I should be proud of my childhood, or ashamed. I don't even know if it really matters. Honestl