Your POV

I come from a broken home. I have never really showed it at my new home at my new home at Wayne maner. I never really go well with the group. I am not into what they do.

I was walking to a poem reading I have a poem I wanted to read. I asked the boys to come but I know they will not.  I move my hair out of my face as I walked in. "Hello Y/n."

I waved. "Your up. You can do this." The manager said. I nodded and walked up. I read 'explaining my depression to my mother'. They clapped. I walked to my set. My family never came to my reading. What!?!?! Why not? They never come to what I want to do.

They hate me. I when home. They looked at me as I walked throw the door. "Where were you?" Dick asked. "You forgot that tonight was my poem reading. I am not surprised. I am really not." I said as I walked to my room. I locked the door.

The next day I when out. I met some people. Some that are just as broken as me. Broken people are tragically beautiful. I smiled to my self.

"She is sad,
She is hurt,
She is dying,
She is alone,
She is a mess,
She is judged,
She is ignored,
She is suicidal,
She is stressed,
She is confused,
She is fucked up,
She is depressed,
She is misunderstood,
She is tired but still living,
She is hurt but won't show it,
She is screaming but is silent,
She is in pain but smiling,
She is me."

You know my name. But do you know my story?