You call me a freak?
You, who has no real friends?
You, who has only followers?
You, who intimidates instead of being friendly?

You call me a freak?
You, who has never studied a day in your life?
You, who reads on a fifth grade level?
You, who is failing all of your classes?

You call me a freak?
You, who calls yourself fat when you’re clearly underweight?
You, who is afraid to eat?
You, who is all stick and bones?

You call me a freak?
You, who wears outrageous, “fashionable” clothes?
You, who wears four-inch heels to gym class?
You, who wears enough hairspray to make your air look like plastic?

Yet you still have the nerve to call me a freak?

You, who smiles confidently when I don’t respond?
You, who widens your eyes when I smile back?
You, who stares speechless when I roll my eyes and walk away?

You, who can’t comprehend why I don’t run away in tears?
You, who doesn’t know why I just walked away?
You, who can’t figure out my true thoughts on you?

I pity you.
I pity you for your fake friends.
I pity you for your future.
But most all, I pity you for the fact that you have to put others down to make yourself feel good.