Genur.art

The rules? Unspoken. Unknown. Navigation through trial and error—mostly error. Raise your hand too much? Freak. Don’t raise it at all? Stupid. Eye contact? Threatening. No eye contact? Suspicious. Use small words? Condescending. Use big words? Pretentious. No map. No guide. Just walls of fire. Walls of laughter, sneers, whispers behind the back (loud enough to hear them, quiet enough to deny). Corridors packed with traps— Step wrong, speak wrong, exist wrong— And it’s another lunch in the bathroom stall. Then come the hands. Grabbing, shoving, stuffing, twisting. Locker doors slam shut like an iron maiden while footsteps fade, dark and alone with the sound of breath, trapped in the empty silence with the echoes of my own inadequacy. Teachers? See nothing. Say nothing. Eyes glaze over, dismissing pain as "too sensitive" Why report the torment when the punishment is being told to “just try harder”? Try what, exactly? Try to be invisible? Try to be normal? Try to smile while ribs are crushed? Do they tell the paraplegic to try harder up the stairs? Do they tell the blind to try harder to see? Not every handicap is visible. Not every injury shows on skin. The bells ring again. Back into the inferno, where the fire isn't only in the walls— it’s in their eyes. And I learn, like all outcasts learn, that high school is where you’re taught— to fear. to hate. to hide. BREAK j_art, anime, anime art, <lora:FLUX\RetroAnimeS1.1:0.1>, <lora:FLUX\GLSHS:0.1>, <lora:FLUX\Dieselpunk Delight - s0_9 g4:0.1>, <lora:FLUX\Anime Art V3:0.1>, <lora:FLUX\jul\J_Anime:1.0>