When people first see her, they get the impression of a bigger girl with dyed black hair and grey blue eyes. They see her as a threat, as someone to run over with words and policies. They see someone who acts tough on the outside. But what they don't see is the girl who is kind and caring, who wants to help other people out with their issues. They don't see the scars on her arms or the stab wounds on her legs. They only see what the eye will let them see. They don't look past all the yucky stuff on the outside, they never do. It's always about that outer appearance, that outer shell, when in reality it should be about the inside. The inside is what matters most, like the yummy bean paste in a Mochi Bun. The texture on the outside is kinda gross, but once you reach the inside it gets really sweet and delicate. That one girl that sits in that one Creative Writing class? She has been through the worst parts of hell, and is barely pushing her way through it all. The one girl you see in the hall with the menacing look in her eyes and the tough way she walks, like she wants you to know what would happen if you dared mess with her… Or her friends and family. That girl has known no love until she met him. The one boy she hasn’t been terrified of. The one boy who doesn’t threaten her with glares or try to pry into her heart with kind words, only to rip them out and leave a bloody scar. She sits down on her bed at night and cries herself to sleep, reliving the taunts and teasings. The pain she feels is a reminder. A reminder that maybe she wasn’t meant to be loved. That maybe the love she did feel was a fluke, a fraud. The ones she loves avoids her after all they have been through. The avoidance is a cost. The price she has to pay. But no one see’s her still. No one can possibly see this girl, this terrified girl.