The names they have called me echo around in my head,
reminding me of who people think I am.
But it's not like I got to choose that anyways.
My words can't affect their view of me,
but their words can affect the way I view myself.
Weird.
You said you were just joking.
That didn't make it hurt any less,
even though I claimed it did.
Then you moved on to calling me "limited edition"
because you thought weird was too hurtful.
It still hurts because you meant weird every single time you called me limited edition.
You moved back to weird eventually,
I think.
The names continued,
progressively getting worse and worse until you started calling me things I dare not repeat!
Oh, but I was laughing?
It was to keep the tears from falling because God knows that makes me a crybaby.
I thought we were best friends, and I was obviously wrong.
The only reason I stuck around you was because I had no one else.
You called me gay for hugging someone I thought was a friend at her birthday party.
Sweet little unforgettable thing.
You thought you could slide that one past me,
but I put the first letters together;
I know what you meant,
even though I have no idea why you'd call me that.
I've never had a boyfriend,
much less a first kiss.
Dumb.
I never really understood this one;
I'm top in my class.
That didn't mean the names didn't hurt,
because they did.
I just didn't understand.
This next one wasn't exactly said with words,
but I got the jist when you wouldn't let me hang out with you and your friends.
I wasn't cool enough.
I.
Wasn't.
Cool enough.
Little did you know
that your words continued
to plunge themselves like knives
into my vulnerable spinning wheel
of a heart
until you hit the bullseye
and it exploded into a million tiny shards
that I can't even begin to pick up.
