You picked on me when I answered in class, told me I needed to stop being a smart ass. You picked on me on social media, apparently. You ridiculed me on wearing trousers when I was checking my phone at my locker.
"You'd look better in a tight little skirt, I'm tellin' ya," you whispered, hungrily in my ear.
You hit on me in disgusting ways. With disgusting words.
There were so many other thirsty girls to hit on so why are you doing this to me? Why am I thinking about you when I sit in my window overlooking London? Over all the sirens I was thinking about a boy that was a bit of a dickhead. A boy I couldn't stand up to because I was a meek child. I did make a friend his name was Stephen and he told you to fuck off when you walked past us with a few girls and 'Noodle Head' and a few other lads. I saw that you had a girl linked to you arm in arm. I think her name was Mia. You two were like any couple. She didn't deserve you. She needed someone better. You'd leave her for another slut.
I'm sitting here on my window sill with my curtains drawn, scribbling these words.
These meaningless words.
Worthless.
Like me.
