School Through the Victim's P.O.V. (Female) 6/15

They think I can't hear their comments,
as they carefully lower their voice,
but I hear every word they say,
it's not like I have a choice.

It cuts through me like a knife,
their every heartless remark,
and just because I'm not like them,
they come at me like a shark.

Everything is fair game to them,
nothing is out of bounds,
and they can smell the fear float off me,
like a group of eager blood hounds.

I see them sneer in my direction,
when they mention my weight, clothes and hair,
and it feels like I'm surrounded by wolves,
that I've stumbled upon their lair.

They constantly cut big words,
into my diminishing self-esteem,
and it's not even that which hurts me most,
it's how they laugh when I let out a scream.

These simple words stay longer,
than any physical scar ever could,
because they are masked deeper inside,
always there but never good.

These tears trickle down my face,
a salty river of pain,
my body is just a shell before you,
for my soul has been repeatedly slain.

Everyone is laughing at me,
as I'm running down the hall,
laughing as they see my tears,
and kicking me as I fall.

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