This Story Doesn't Matter

Sad girl, smart girl, sick and deformed; a geek in her own right. Eye for words and numbers so clear, nose in a book and impatiently waiting for others too succeed. Dangerous to breathe, harmful to see, and a waste to be. Charmed in ways others never spent though always feeling the damage surrounding her. Dysfunctional ways not the demon hiding in her deep dark tent. Harsh words, and a hit or two, kids shall be brutal; never cared much for it, always looking to treat others better than their pain. Broken trust, violated by another's lust, into a shell she shimmied free to hide so she could be. Heart break, and new life, near death and disorder, painfully aware with shocking agony; is this really PTSD? Or am I just a drama queen?