Invisible

I'm in the bathroom;
the cubicle is locked
and my feet are propped
up against the wall.

They've trapped me and they know it.

They know I'm in here.
They keep snickering,
throwing comments
around about me.

"She's so closed off, it's kind of weird."

"Do you reckon she likes girls? As in, like like. I've never seen her even flirt with a boy, let alone had a boyfriend."

"I know, right? Or maybe she's just, like, easy and has sex every weekend and somehow gets the guys to keep quiet about it, you know? One of my old friends used to do that but then some guy blabbed and I was just like, 'Yeah, I'm not gonna be friends with a slut'."

"Oh my god, that's got to be it! No girl could just not flirt or do anything with guys at all, unless they're like a lesbian. But I can't see her like that, 'cause I've never seen her flirt with a girl either..."

"Yeah. Hey, did you see her face today? She looks like a clown!"

"I know! I mean, someone seriously needs to teach her how to put on make up properly."

They continue
so long, I wonder
if I'll ever be able to get out of here.

And tears are
dampening my eyes,
finally toppling over
when I hear
the worst comment.

"Sometimes, I just wish she'd die already. She's not doing anyone any good by sticking around."

A collection of gasps sound out
including mine.
That girl went too far.
But then she said,
defensively:

"Hey, you know you're all thinking it."

A round of giggles sound out
this time
admitting,
yes, we all think it.
You're right, we all wish she was dead.

And how I know they
were talking about me?

Well, the second I
step out of my cubicle
after they're gone, of course,
I see something stuck to
the mirror.

It's a photo of me
with a large red cross
straight over my face.

It wasn't there before
I locked myself in
the cubicle
and the only people
that have been in here
were them.

The same old bullies
as always.