Smoke

Smoke.

She stood against the wall, smoke blowing around her.

Ash falling onto her wrinkled uniform.

Black Tesco trainers stood in a pool of dirt and old *** buts.

Green eyes staring blankly onto the wall across from her.

Wind changing blowing burnt tobacco into her long brown curls.

Face pale as an empty page, cheek bones protruding above her chapped lips and her tired smile.

No one knew why she did it,

why after every school day she’d be found, engulfed in smoke.

From the first bell to the last, she seemed like an inspiration.

Everyone said it.

Teachers, students, even the farmer boys couldn’t deny her charisma.

She was not loved within those grey prison like walls,

not by all.

She was that girl the angry feminist, politically correct vegan.

She someone said something sexist, racist, you name it, she correct them.

She protected those who couldn’t protect themselves.

Some thought of her like an angel, always their to advice them.

Others thought of her as more of a *****.

It didn’t matter though,

She didn’t care what they saw, only what she saw when she looked in the mirror.

And she saw ugly.

She was told to see it to, reminded by the farmers and her mother to see it.

So she stood there,

everyday after school.

Filling her lungs with tar, after not eating all day.

No one noticed cos when a fat girl develops an eating disorder all she is is a success story.

A before and after picture to keep in her dads wallet.

Everyone was told she was fine,

sometimes even she believed it.

Everyone that sees her tells her that smoking kills.

It does but the illegal eBay dieting tablets will kill her first.

Then all she’ll be is a misdiagnosed body in the ground.

And a drinking spot for other lost teens to slowing kill themselves, or be killed by the words that shoved cures down throats.