I am crying, perhaps for hours, perhaps mere seconds.

It doesnt really matter

I walked in teh cold and drizzle alone. My face is stained and red. My eye sburn and tremors and waves of tears and sadness well up through me. I am so angry, so furious I feel like attacking each passin car. As though i could conquer the gargantuan metal machine, all of them, and still thrist for blood, and still overflow with the compulsion to destroy and scream. But I do nothing, I jsut walk on.

It doesnt really matter.

I hiccup and cough and spurt out tears. My feet move toward the bus stop in spite of me. All I want is to sit and curl up and cry. I want to rock back and forth wallowing in my tears forever. I want to go home,. but not home. My home os the source od the pain and tears. I do not want to go back there, but I want to go home. To a place where I am safe and happy. A place that I doubt I shall find.

It doesn't really matter.

A few steps more. Just a few houses away, A yard, a foot a step and finally i may rest. I sit on the damp grass and curl my legs, holding them as though i am afraid to lose them. The tears are still coming automated and i ;have no will to try and stop them. The tears are calm and angry they flow steadily the rivers from my eyes.

Cars are passing me by and if i look up and see them, the people are looking at me, curiously,. They seem frightened by my emotion. Tears scare people and all the passerbys look down on the ugly little teen bawling below. A fe cars slow down, but no one stops, i do not want them to stop i want despertely to be alone. That is why i sit so that my friend will not see me and leave her home to join me. I begin to drapw my hari around my head, and hide myself deeper, shrinking so as not to be seena nd stared at, to dullen curiousity.

It doesnt really matter

Cars pass by and I sob and cry with no sign of ceasing, all too steadily. I recognize a car and galnce up to see them stopping. I dont know these people, i am familiar with them but they never seem to have taken a liking to me, but I do think well of them. One leans his head out of the window and asks me if i am ok, i jsut nod and wave him on. Apparently not enough. THe driver gets out and kneels beside me, hugs me and asks me if i am ok, and what is wrong. I cant tallk because I feel so strange and shicked and i hiccup between tears. They offer me a ride. The tell me that they want me to feel better.

Does this mean that I matter?