Thoughts of an Exhausted

They call me "flirt".

They call me "slut".

They call me "whore".

They call me "failure".

They call me "dull".

I'm hearing all of these.

I'm hearing and feeling all of these everyday

From my friends who aren't treating me as their friend,

From my companions who are always leaving me alone,

And from the people who don't know who I am.

I wish I could explain myself,

But I guess they aren't worth it for my explanation.

I've been keeping this pain.

I've been comforting myself.

I'm trying to be strong.

Yes, I do but my heart is too soft, too fragile,

Can be squeezed and can be easily stepped on.

I'm not strong.

I'm not strong like what you think and as it seems.

This is still me,

The girl you bully since gradeschool,

The girl you are making fun with.

This is still me,

The girl you will never forget,

And the girl you will forever regret.

This poem is about: 
Me

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