The Price Of Popularity Poem by Amy Carmichael

No, no, no my dear you don’t understand
He wants me bad and he offers his hand
He wants to look after me and take away my pain
But im a cynic and I see what he will gain.

A pretty girl on his arm, who knows the right friend
Sure she’s messed up, but she’s the means to an end,
‘Man, how’d you get her? She’s pretty damn hot’
They whisper to him, like I’m a trinket he’s got.

So he is in their gang, but he doesn’t see
That they’re all just as f**king messed up as me!
Damage control as the rumours spread
Of secret affairs and misdemeanours in bed.

So yes he kisses me, and walks me home,
Right to the door…but then I’m alone.