Beneath the Surface
By Alexander Parsonage Aged 9 when written
I have blond her, Blue eys and an infeckshos smill. Pealpie tell mum haw gorgus I am and is ent she looky to have me. But under the surface I live in a tumoyl. Words look like swigles and riting storys is a disaster area because of spellings. There were no ply times at my old school untill work was fineshed wich ment no plytims at all. Thechers sead I was clevor but just didn't try.
Shouting was the only way the techors comuniccatid with me. Uther boys made fun of me and so I beckame lonly and mishroboll. it was like being jon a decert island lost and alone. Life was life and sckooll was sckool. Tings cangd when I moved to my new sckooll.
I am the same inside new as I am out side. I can not reed and spell, well all most. I have frens and the teckhors all most never shout. They treet me as an intellejent person and not a zomby.
I wish I new my fythor. I wonder wot will hapon to me when I have to leve. Will my in side sty the same as my out side. Wat will be Beneath my Surface. I wish I new.