I Didn't Know It Was a Crime to Be a Feminist

Why do I go on Figment?
I can't stop crying.

Songbird

I’m like a songbird

Who, after hibernating in the soft burrow

in the woods

for a dozen years

pokes her head out.

Is relatively unharmed,

and flies a little higher up.

Then tries to sing

a melodic harmony

only to be shot

by a battalion of arrows

and fall

to the 

ground

dead

My little bird

without the words

left me

to sing somewhere else

So I lay here, left for dead

I knew

I didn’t have pretty colored feathers

like the parakeets

and it didn’t bother me

But I at least 

had wished

I wouldn’t have been shot

for my voice

Alas,

you’ll never hear this songbird

sing

again.

I have to do my homework, now, though my French homework doesn't make sense (but I'm not much good in French anyway) so I'll do my Algebra 2 homework.
I mean that no one thinks I'm pretty, and I don't mind; but no one thinks I'm smart, and that bothers me a lot. I wish someone thought I was smart, or you know, worth something. It hurts to be thought of as the stupid, naive one. It hurts a lot.
Being intelligent matters to me. Being a good writer matters to me. But no one thinks I am either.
I'm still crying.
I wish I was home. Knowing my luck, I'll die here, in the midst of this American suburbia, with no last words to mark that even I thought I could be worth something.
I wish I could depict how I feel without saying I'm crying, but you know I can't write to save my life, so I can't.

Now I really have to go do my homework. Goodbye, nonexistent readers.
From your worthless poet,
Ariel

UPDATE FROM THE FUTURE: I do not feel worthless anymore! I am full of great self confidence! This is old angst! Ignore it!