I put on this act,
as I walk through the halls looking like I don’t care.
People talk behind my back,
like I’m not even there

They call me a slut, they call me whore,
and frankly, I just can’t take it anymore.
They don’t know me at all,
and I won’t let them see me fall.

They don’t see the feelings that I hide.
Do they realize how much it hurts?
They don’t see what’s bottling up inside.
Do they realize they shouldn’t talk dirt?

So many things left unsaid.
So many reasons why my insides feel dead.
Why would he do this to me?
Why did God choose my family?

I walk through the halls with a stumble,
realizing I’m about to fall.
The worst is happening I say with a tumble,
I can’t do this, I have got to stand tall.


Jane Doe
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