The Note
It passes around until the last person sees.
Like a rumor spreading until the victim hears.
It’s like a needle penetrating the skin once it hits.
The note, oh those things people giggle and smirk about.
But you never know what pain people hide behind such a laugh..
How much hatred they have for themselves, from such hurtful words you spoke of them.
You need to stop and think “How would I feel if I was the last one standing, laughing, or even crying”
This poem is about:
Our world