Whispers

"She's a freak, can't you see?"
Yeah, they're talking about me.
They whisper behind my back,
Each word sends my tender heart under attack.
"She's always alone, I wonder why,"
I hear them whisper as I walk by.
"Why does she always have to wear black?"
I feel like I've been stabbed in the back.
They won't ask these questions to my face,
But don't make a mistake:
I don't care what they say,
I hear the same things every day.
"Ugly, stupid, freak,"
I wish one of them had enough guts just to peak.
If they looked into my eyes,
They'd see a thousand lies.
I smile at them, I don't care,
But my personal life, is something I will never share.
"Do you think she has friends?"
These horrible whispers seem to have no end.
I grew tired of feeling bad for what others thought of me,
I've broken the chains, I am free.
Now, when I hear these whispers running through the air,
I just smile, and prove to others that I don't care.