They laugh at my hands
Covered in ink eternal
From gripping my pen
While writing in my journal

They laugh at my pencil
Short and stubby to boot
From writing in my journal
My only venting route

They laugh at my pen
My pencil replaced
Running low on ink
With unsurpassed haste

They laugh at my marker
My pen no more
They call me mean names
As I try to ignore

They laugh at my crayon
My marker has died
My writing is blurry
But still full of my pride

They laugh at my paintbrush
My crayon has broken
I'm trying to forget them
But they've still spoken

They laugh at my journal
My only output
Then grab it away
They might as well cut off my foot

They laugh at my tears
As my journal is shredded
Their faces crease into laughter
I'm becoming lightheaded

They laugh at my feelings
Bottled up inside
I no longer can vent
They've intensified

They laugh at the hurt
I experience now
From trapping feelings in
And never letting them out