Just Paper

Everyday I walk through the Middle School doors.
Every time I do, I feel everything inside of me taken away from me.
All my hopes, dreams, wishes and my self-confidence, just ripped from me.
Like a beautiful poem on paper; then just ripping the words away.
So, there is, is a blank weak piece of paper.
Feeling empty, I have to go about my day trying to make my biggest critic happy; me.
I also have to be shot at with piercing knives.
This becomes a group's favorite thing to do.
Because one person will throw the knife with wicked speed, striking hard.
Then the group wields a malevolent knife at me through laughs and giggles.
I feel like I can't say or do anything because I'm just paper with no words.
Thousands of times stabbed by little things making a big wound.
A bigger wound makes the paper weaker.
Sometimes I leave school and become a beautiful poem again.
But most times I stay paper until I am fed words from my family.
It's slow eating, but over time, word-by-word, a poem is restored.
Until the next day, when the words disappear making the wound,
just barely healed, infected.