Don’t tell me,

That he liked me,

When I came home,

From school,

With bruises on my skin,

In the shape of the knuckles,

That “falling down the stairs,”

Could never,

Have made.

And don’t tell me,

He was trying to protect me,

When he locked me in,

The supply closet.

I don’t want to hear,

You defend him,

And make up more excuses,

Of why he did,

Horrible things,

Because the truth is:

He was a bully,

And I can only hope,

To forgive him,

For being that,

Instead of a friend,

When I needed one.




You don’t deserve,

Her “sorry,”

Because she doesn’t even know,

Why she is saying it,


Is it her singing voice,

When her favorite song,

Comes on the radio?

Is it her messy ponytail,

Which she always,

Runs her hand through?

Or is it her crazy laugh,

Which draws people’s attention?

You can’t just,

Hate some things about her,

And claim to love the others,

As if that,

Makes up for,

The millions of “sorry’s,”

She says,

When she is apologising,

For a part of her,

You dislike.


Grow Up

All my life I was treated,

By my older brother’s friends,

Just like a tag-along,

Younger boy,

So I guess I never learned,

Like other girls did,

That once you pass age ten,

You can’t be who you want any more,

You have to be different,

And say different things,

And I guess I never noticed,

Even when my brother’s friends did,

That I was growing up,

And I couldn’t play with them,


It was like a rule,

I had never learned,

While romping in the woods,

With them,

Or tapping my pencil,

On my desk,

In a classroom.

It was puzzling,

Because they stopped treating me,

Like they always had,

And started treating me,

Like something totally alien.

There now was a wall,

I couldn’t breach,

Of words and thoughts,

All about crushes,

And coolness,

And thing’s I’d never learned.

I guess this happens,

To every girl,

Who grows up with boys,

But I just didn’t expect it,

To happen so fast,

I thought I had more time,

To be me.


Other things were in play,

And I had to grow up,

And leave my friends,


In the world,

That I had once,





I once knew a girl,

Who loved her mirror,

More then anyone else,

In her life.

Every day,

She would stand in front of it,

Wearing fashionable,

And beautiful clothes,

And she would say,

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall,

Am I pretty at all?”

And the mirror only frowned,

And said to her,


So she cried,

Then dried her face,

And went to school.

Everything seemed fine,

Picture Perfect almost,

So no one questioned,

When her clothes started,

To hang off her,

And her eyes sunk into her face,

As she asked,

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall,

Why do I feel so small?”

The mirror said,

“You are not small,

You are fat,

And big.”

So she cried again,

And went to school,

Wearing baggy clothes,

Because she thought,

That those hid her figure,

And while her fashionable friends laughed,

And everyone stared,

She kept her face to the ground,

And didn’t say a word.

The next time she asked,

Was two weeks later,

When she was wasting away,

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall,

Who will listen when I call?”

The mirror only said,

“No one. So don’t.”

She didn’t even have,

The feeling to cry,

As she stared with empty eyes,

At the mirror,

Which had dictated,

Her life.

She took a deep breath,

Then another,

Before saying,

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall,

Why do people stare in the hall?”

The mirror reply was,

“Doesn’t everybody,

Stare at something so ugly?”

Her head was down,

And she didn’t seem,

To have any hope,

As she remembered,

The words her mother,

Once told her,

“Don’t worry about the mirror,

Don’t worry about the looks,

Because people only stare,

When they see something,

Completely beautiful.”

She wondered what,

Her mother would say,

If she saw,

Her daughter now,

And with that thought,

In her mind,

She said,”Mirror, Mirror on the wall,

I don’t believe you anymore.”

She wondered why,

She had failed to realize,

That a mirror,

Twists ones words,

And thoughts,

Just like it spelled,

The words on a piece,

Of paper,

Which she held up,


“I am beautiful.”

But now,

She actually believed it.

When she went,

To school again,

She wore the clothes,

She wanted,

And said,

What she wanted to.

She let her opinions out,

And made better friends,

Her grades rose,

And her spirirt did too,

So now mirror,

Were you correct?

Was she nothing?


“Mirror Mirror on the wall,

I don’t believe you at all.”








I saw you gossiping,

With your awful,

All-the-same friends,

So no need,

To act like you are my friend,

When I need someone next.

You don’t have to pretend,

That you didn’t write,

Horrible things on my locker,

In sharpie,

And tape hate notes on it,

Every other day.

Some people call me naive,

Because I look for the best,

In every one,

And that may be true,

But it still hurts,

That I trusted you.

So when you and your barbies,

Laugh at me next,

And spread rumors around school,

I hope you know,

That no one I care about,

Is listening to those lies.

Because all my friends,

Who I truly trust,

Never met you.

Mainly because

I made them,

After you left me,

Down and in the dumps.

They didn’t laugh,

Or tease,

Or judge,

They covered my locker,

In positive sharpie writing,

And doodles.

They do funny things in the hall,

And have piggyback rides,

To the car line,

Which makes me laugh,

More than your sickly jokes,

Ever did,


You never won,

Because I,

Got the greatest treasure of all:


Who never believed,

Lies that were spread,

By a liar.



I get weird looks,

When I wear my baseball cap,

And favorite baggy sweatshirt,

Like there is some unwritten rule,

In this society,

That says girls should only wear,

Form-fitting clothes,

Like skinny jeans,

And crop tops,

That show a little skin.

Tight shirts,

And short shorts.

It’s like the clothes you wear

Equal your beauty,

And you’re nothing without.

Your wild laugh,

Your crazy hair,

And the little skip-jump way you walk,

Is nothing,

Because apparently,

Your body is what is,

Suppose to be beautiful.

There’s no questioning why,

Because I’ve tried,

And it seems that the answer,

Is obvious:

Your body is deemed,

The most beautiful part of you.

So flaunt it for show,

Do what is expected of you,

And never question why:

Society says,

Your body is,

The most beautiful part of you.

If you don’t fit in,

And wear funky clothes,

That are full of personality,

And quirk,

Then it is clear,

That you are not,

Considered beautiful.

You might be considered bold,

Or perhaps spirited,

But no one will really think,

That your body is,

The most beautiful part of you.

I wonder when things because twisted,

That you are not beautiful,

Unless your body is skinny,

Or curvy,

Or flawless,

No one likes freckles,

At least that is what,

I’ve been told,

And they only mar your skin,

To take away,

What beauty they might have seen.

I’m tired of seeing certain parts of me,

As imperfections,

And seeing others shot down,

For the same reasons,

Because I think it’s time to question,

Why people don’t consider me,


Because I weigh more,

And freckles are on my skin.

And my friends I’ve seen cry,

In the bathroom,

Because they wear different clothes,

And have different colored skin.

Because their eyes are a little slanted,

Or their face not powdered with make-up.

Why are they not considered beautiful?

I wear comfortable clothing,

And will not change that,

For anyone,

So if society doesn’t think,

Me beautiful,

Then I know,

My friends do,

Because I’ve seen,

The dark corners of schools,

Where the outcasts cry,

And go about with empty eyes,Beautiful

The people who dye their hair,

Because it wasn’t considered beautiful,

When it was natural,

And who cake on make-up,

Because they are not considered beautiful,


I’m tired of finding,

Beautiful people in the corners,

Catching dust,

When they should be,

Allowed to feel beautiful,

And be themselves,

Without having society,

Saying no.

Tilt up your chin girl,

You have a beauty,

That can’t be mocked,

Or hidden away.

Don’t worry about what they say,

In the weight room boy,

Because the football team still stinks,

While you are in Honors.

Don’t listen to society,

When it picks and pokes,

To find the ones,

Who it thinks can shine,

When they don’t see,

Being fooled by the brighter shine,

That you were beautiful all along,

And you just have to be,


In order to see that too.






Have you ever remembered,

Who you where before society,

Decided who you should be?

I’ve seem the people,

Walking through the halls,

With bland faces,

And empty eyes,

And I wonder,

What happened to them,

To make them that way?

Because we where all,

Where children once,

Fighting our battles,

With wooden swords,

But what happened since then?


A girl in my English class,

Is told she is skinny,

But three years ago,

Boys called her fat.

Anorexia happened to her.

A boy who I had in one of my classes,

Last year,

Use to sit quietly in the back,

And he stuttered whenever he talked.

He can tell you the definition of lonely,

And unloved by family.

It happens all the time,

And I want something to blame,

So why not society?

If people cared more,

And looked up from their screens,

They would seem him silently struggling,

And they would have seen her,

Not eat anything at lunch,

But they don’t.

And I blame society.