The Girl on the Small Bus


She rides on the small bus to school everyday.
It acts as a label, on her forehead to stay.

She can see the other students walking to school.
Through the windows of the bus, she doesn't feel cool.

She is a lone wolf, her face stained with a pout.
She is trying to figure this crazy world out.

Others call her rude names a hundred times per day.
Those names are not innocent; harmful I'd say.

When she speaks, her voice makes people wary,
Some kids think it even sounds scary.

The main thing she needs is a little compassion,
Since when did acting nice become out-of-fashion?

Regarded as "lame, not the same," feeling ashamed,
Picked on, kicked at, until she's thrown out of the game.

The small bus greets her as her day comes to an end,
She seems exuberant but it is just
Pretend.

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