When she was little she had two walls in her garage one for her dads tools and another was just blank. Her mother let her draw on the wall and with that she drew on it whenever but as she got older she realized something about the wall.
She realized that as you stand back and look it was like a record of her growing up. She saw scribbles at first and then as it progresses the drawings took on a new clearer form. She could tell the emotions she saw in the scribbles. Later on she started to express her emotions through writing. At that moment she didn't need the wall no more. But as she looks back, those were the moments to inspire her writing.
She's already reached into her backpack four times in fifteen minutes. Four times, silently at her metal desk against the wall, she's slipped her hand into the bright blue canvas pouch. No one sees her, hears her open the cellophane bags twinkies, M&Ms, Cheetos her true companions. Ever since they forgot her real name somewhere around the fifth grade she's certain she's become invisible.
Without her real name to identify her, then who's to say she took the missing peanuts and creme filled Oreos. She thinks someday she'll shed this skin she wears in layers and float away down a river on a cloud, but right now it's all she can do to stay away from that backpack . Right now she's trying hard to find her real name sew it on her left pocket in threads above her heart so no will forget again.
Most of us don't fit into the images displayed by movie stars and models and so it is very hard to be happy with the way we are. All of us have those moments where we feel completely invisible to the outside world when it seems as if no one knows who we are.