Gladys Ingram Poet I do not know?

That's What They Call `em..

They say that they're your friend 
but in the end their nothing 
but a black hole within the deep pits of your soul. 
And you wonder why you feel your hair rise 
as you take on the presence of their coming. 
Even though you practice silence in the honor of the footsteps that they portrait, 
you still make it easier for those that are haters to come your way. 
You speak when only you are spoken too, 
and you smile when they turn their heads. 
They make it their #1 goal to make fun 
because your hair isn't to their standards
and your clothes isn't as "Baby Phatty" as theirs. 
And again, you seem not to care. 
You tell them your problems 
expecting them to become closer to you. 
You make it seem as if you’re happy, 
but again, you have the slightest clue. 
The bad, the hateful, the deceitful, and the ugly...that's what they call ..em. 

They pry on your tears 
and make jokes amongst their peers. 
They dream about you 
and awake in the middle of the night because they can't sleep without you. 
They envy you so much they can't even eat without you. 
Holding up their backbone has become a task 
because their so busy minding your business they forgot about theirs. 
They are somewhat like the sun on dry grass, 
and spaghetti without the sauce. 
Such dry personality 
and unthinkable 
nonsense of humor with their thoughts. 
That’s why your their target and at the same time remain #1.
They have no life of their own, 
and they get attention by bringing hurt to your heart. 
The bad, the hateful, the deceitful, and the ugly...that’s what they call ..em.

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