On the Same Topic
I used to imagine what it'd be like
to be that girl, the one in class who sits
in the back, face covered with long dark
wavy mermaid hair, the wraith in pale skin
who doesn't say a word, who won't raise
her hand, who in her slight loveliness is
more ghost than girl, floating in the sides
of our visions like quicksilver.
I wanted to be her, mysterious and secret,
wanted to hold my metaphorical cards close
to my slim chest, wanted to carry with me
that Mona Lisa smile, wanted to be vapor,
intangible, odorless, shining like moon
light on dark leaves. I wanted to leave no
mark on the world. I certainly didn't want
to be the girl I was -- that pudgy babyface
sitting right in front of the teacher, her arm
always itching to raise, the words pushing
against her lips, tangling into themselves in
their rush to be free. That girl waving
as if drowning, shouting loudly with every
fiber of her freckled body pick me pick me
oh please pick me
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