Popular vs. Average

Your eyes,
They don't lie.
I see the disgust,
That smirking look.
The one that is saved,
To put on a show.

The audience?
Only I.

I'm confused –
So very befuddled.
Wonder strikes me:
"Why do you despise me so?"
I'm tempted to ask.

You know I won't.
I know I won't.
Just like we both know,
That you'd never say anything horrid –
Ha, how I laugh at the thought.
– To my face.

Of course you'd never stop,
At going behind my back.
Telling those lies:
"…She's so mean…"
"…She just glares…"
"…She never speaks to me…"

Would you like some Swiss cheese my dear?
For it would go lovely,
With that hideous whine.
And I must say,
Your nose, you see,
Why, it's grown quite a bit!

We're a pair.
You and me,
Subtly slipping into the oldest of molds:
Popular vs. Average
How I do hate that fit.

Bahh. I despise people. Thus giving me insperation for dis here poem.
Anyone else had one of those bee-to-the-otchy girls make them want to scream? I deicate this poem to them.


(And, yes, this IS supposed to be a bitter sarcastic poem.)