She sat there in disbelief,

The things they had written were so malicious.

She read the words on the screen:

Whore, slut, bitch.

How could they be her friends?

Since the seventh grade they’d been friends,

Every day at school together,

Yet somehow she’d become a hated stranger.


She was there for the tears, heartbreaks, insecurities,

The first car gitters, first kisses, and first butterflies.

Yet, she is a stranger.


She sat there and thought and thought,

“What did I do, what did I say?”

The answer: nothing, she’s done nothing wrong,

She was there in all the times they needed her.

Yet, she is a stranger.


She babysat with you,

She did crafts with you,

She snuck out with you,

She spent endless nights talking about boys,

 She spend days comforting you as you cried about these boys.

Yet, she is a stranger.


She cried with you when death become personal,

She shared your cares and beliefs,

She stood tall when you fell down,

She carried the world for you to hide you from sorrow.

Yet, she is a stranger.


I went through hell.

I had those thoughts.

I almost acted on those thoughts.

Lucky for you, God had a better plan.

Or you would go through what I did.


I saw you once as a best friend but you treated me like an enemy.

Yes, I am a stranger.

I am such a stranger to what you think I am.

But I am not a stranger to who you truly are.

I am a beautiful stranger and I will always be just that to you,

a stranger.  




Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741