The Storyteller

This time a man.

A preacher I believe,

Stopped along the path.

When he saw me

he couldn't breath.

So judgemental,

almost sinful.

I laugh to myself inside.

As he stares at me in disbelief,

I laugh so hard i begin to cry.

"You stupid gilr." he says.

"Your parents must be worried

go home

go to bed."

With inoccent glare

I look at the man and say,

"Why would you care

if I was sick in the head?"

I laugh and giggle,

he backs away.

My whispers continue

though nobodys here

to hear the tails

that I hold dear.

To bad for them.

Their loss, I guess

But I'll always be sitting here,

watching their mess