Words Hurt

I hear their whispers in the hallway.
"Hoe, emo, wanna-be, poser, gothic, and freak" are some of the many things they say.
THe name calling, the put downs, I hear it every day.
And every day they laugh at me.
As if something is soooo funny.
I hear their whispers in the hallway.
I hear it every day.
They speak in hushed voices.
I never notice because their laughter and gossip are such strange noises.
Their words cut through me like a steamed knife cutting through butter.
Some times it's not even words, it's mutters.
But to me mutters and the their voices are the same.
They both insult my name.
People alway sask me what happened to my wrist.
I lie and smile, "I fell," They look away and whisper I wish.
Every scar on my wrist symbolizes each of the names I have ever been called.
And every mark represent a tear I have balled.
I cut my self because words DO hurt.
Our language is no longer words.
It is a foul speaking of the tongue, used to hurt, insult, and put down others.

-My name is Angeline Ponce, and I am an emotional creature.