They couldn’t define the word “whisper” if a gun was held to their head.

            “What’s with her? Never talks to anyone.”

            “I heard she's been in jail—and not just once.”

Rumors. No one cares if they're true or not.

They simply inhale the gossip. Mouth open wide—chew it up, swallow it down.

Parrot it back to anyone willing to listen.

            “Did you see what she was wearing yesterday?”

            “I hear she was raped, that's why she can’t dress herself.”

Or maybe I just haven't got a care in the world, darling.

I’m sure you haven't had the pleasure of knowing what that feels like.

Bet you're about your shoes, your dress, your skirt,

your grades, your parents and their expectations.

About you're boyfriend, and Oh My GOSH, the amazing sex, the greatest relationship!

            Please.

As if he matters, as if it's even that good, as if he'll even be with you next month.

I’d like to be as calm as the still water in an empty swimming pool.

But I care about what they think.

It hurts when they insult me.

I can’t help but listen to their voices and the rumors they spread,

or pay attention to their actions and the way they carry themselves.

            “Shut up, shut up, here she comes!”

            “Act natural—talk about someone else!”

I walk by as if I haven’t heard a word.

It will be my epic downfall, without a doubt.