“Why are you so quiet?” they ask.

Funny you should wonder.

After all, you’re the one who began this discomfort.

I say one thing, and guess what? It’s greeted with a glare.

I compliment your outfit, but you just flip your hair.

Out of sight, out of mind: apparently that’s your motto,

Because when I stay silent, you obviously don’t know

That inside I am peeved and my brain wants to explode.

“Why am I so quiet?”

It’s because you made me so.

Determined not to let me in, your clique is far from cute.

Inside my heart is crying, “Can’t you just notice me too?

I know the trends, I have the shoes, I’m not always silent.

I have gossip and I have news even though I’m quiet.”

Dude, just treat me like the other girls, I’m not a muted freak.

All you have to do is invite me to your clique.

And the funny thing is, I don’t want to be your friend.

But the fact that you don’t like me—I can’t let that be the end.

So fine, go ahead and spite me! Talk behind my back.

Just don’t blame me for being quiet

When you’re the one who’s wack.