Sometimes it feel slike
I'm the only one who doesn't know.
People smile at me knowingly,
Huddle in little groups,
Whisper away with each other.
I stand outside,
Looking in,
Straining to hear something,
Anything,
That will tell me what I don't know.
But no matter how hard I try
All I hear is whisperings,
FAint snatches, snippets of words.
Why won't they let me in?
Why won't they tell me?
Why am I always the last to know?
And the way they smile,
So knowingly...
It scares me.
