Listen to them very carefully.
Just listen to what they say.
Vile drips from their tongue so readily,
disguised in just the right way.

Now ponder for just a minute,
what do they speak of you?
When the crowd's without you in it,
do they mock you too?

Did you think you could escape,
their two-faced?

ALesiach © 08/04/2017

Whispers echoing in a trusted ear,
spoken to another ear.
Echoing louder than once before,
exaggerated and twisted
for you find everyone knows
those whispers you called secrets.
As it spread like a chain,
to one trusted person of theirs
to the next
The identity of those whispers
are no longer secrets but rumors.

I lie to you.

You, of course, lie back.

And then the lie spreads to
An uncomfortable degree

But no one decided
To stop the lie
Because we all wish it to be true.

And so everyone now believes the lie
To be truth
All thanks to me.

And I lie to you.

Whispers fill the air
They fall on straining ears
Who want to hear the reds and blues
Of those who are not there

Smirking with delight
They draw close and near
Looking at the figure lone
Their snickers left in night

Crafting yet smiling
They turn and greet their (friend)
Loner, who is statue still
Is warmed by their lying

but unknown to the figure lone
His friend had drawn his blade
And left it in his back
For everyone to see.

The trees lean in
To hear the secrets
Of people passing by,
Carried by the wind.

What else among your routines?
They never expressed to my face
Lurking in their minds,
Thoughts to pull me down,
Kick in bruises all over me,
Stabbing in my back again.

I felt the pain growing every day,
They aim to gain my pain to rise up,
Scars that never heal, leftovers.
Tell me something that will ease,
This hell on my head, boiling,
Sound the alarm, get naked truths behind.

I giggled when
I heard them say
things about me

"Sharpens pencil"

Soy tormenta.
violenta.

Por dentro, solamente.

Si me ves por fuera,
veras, querida,
a cualquier otra.
Como todas,
no hablamos del dolor,
ni de la incapacidad
de levantarse cada mañana.

Y como?
En esta Honduras?
Donde la penumbra se encuentra,
en la sombra de las criticas,
el chisme, clase alta,
y pendeja,

y por eso seguimos
aqui.