I hear their whispers,
How they talk and point
When going down the street,
How they laugh so cruelly,
Heartless animals,
Mocking every move,
Every cursed feature,
And I pretend not to care,
I've always been good at it,
Acting as if it didn't matter,
As if I couldn't give 2 *****
About what they think,
But deep inside it hurts,
It hurts to know that so many
Are drawn like this,
It kills hope and brings a
Certain misery and dread,
Something I don't need,
So I walk
And keep on going,
Pass the skirts
And painted faces
And tall designer shoes,
"I don't care,
I don't care,
To hell with em all"
But indeed I care,
Don't tell anyone though,
I want to bring this secret
To my grave.