not sure if this is poem of some kind. But kinda wonna get some feedback. Its prop not that good!
I heard them say they loved her.
They spoke like they knew her, like she was an important person to them.
They passed her by the halls like any other.
Their eyes were too busy to even consider looking down on someone like her.
Her books pulled tightly to her chest she would walk the halls making sure her eyes wouldn’t lift anywhere near the dizzy heights of the others.
She was different to them and that was reason enough to hate her.
Yet on this frozen November morning they mourned her like she was one of their own.
Like the makeup they plastered onto their scarred faces these actions were fake. A masquerade to a viewing public.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem