Whispers

They call to me with

Whispers

I hear their words

Or the breath of them

Creeping along the back of my neck

Raising the hackles

Before creeping up to slide

Like rancid ooze

Into my ears

Whispers

They sing to me with

Whispers

Songs of horrors

Seen and imagined

Dragging images conjoured

To pin them to the eyes

Of my mind

Whispers

Always whispers

With a sigh

Almost a whisper in itself

I accept their message

My shoulders born down

From the weight

Of intent

Of conquest

My protests naught against

Their sly power

Whispers

I succumb to their

Whispers

The bully

The egotist

The parent

The 'friend'

The trolls and the posts and the words and the looks

As they whisper to me

People can be cruel. So many take pleasure in gossip or name calling. Maybe it's to deflect it away from themselves but, either way, they don't care - or fully intend - the hurt it might cause. Those affected can be made to feel like an outcast or weird or wrong. It can bring tears. Self harming. Suicide.

Why? Why be like that?

I'm writing this for my daughter. She's suffered many times because of the stresses of teenage school. Her hair's the wrong colour. Her eyelashes aren't long enough. She didn't have an iPhone. She talked funny because she had manners. My story Daughter was written for the same reasons. Why can't we just be nice to each other?