Yearbook Pain

There it is, scrawled in blue ink, a cruel twist,

'You’ll always be a little odd,' it reads,

flipping through pages, where memories list,

my teenage heart tangled, unwatered by weeds.

The laughter of friends, they meant well, I know,

yet the ink blooms sharp, like a thorn in my side.

I look at that smile, how it hides all the low,

a comment that stitches old wounds I can't bide.

Each page feels alive, holds the weight of the past,

faces freeze frame smiles while shadows encroach.

A moment suspended, a hurt that will last,

for sometimes, in kindness, we accidentally broach.