That Strange Girl

September 22, 2007
By Diana Swanson, Valparaiso, IN

You laugh at my jokes;
We play around with pokes.
We have a passing cat fight,
Every couple of night,
But that’s OK,
Because we stay,
On good terms,
Sometimes even sharing germs.
Good times,
Bad times,
We pull through,
But what else are we supposed to do?
After all, both come in dozens,
Because, you know, we are cousins!

You agree with me,
That true to yourself you must be,
That being fake,
Is no piece of cake,
But the more real,
The better you feel.
You hate when I call you popular,
Even though you are,
And you throw a fit,
Because you do not act it.
It’s because of your friends,
But you argue that is not where it ends.
You tell me just because you cheer,
Doesn’t mean your heart will steer.

Anyone who is reading this,
Would find only the sweetest bliss,
In proving me wrong,
Maybe even in song.
But then, too,
They don’t really know you.

All they see,
Is some girl you claim to be.
All they know,
Is that madwoman’s show.
But I am sure,
I can’t endure,
Their saying it's you,
For I know that can’t be true.
I simply see some crazy girl,
Caking on a whirl,
Of make-up and other “cool stuff”.
Well, it must be tough,
Going through life,
The “bliss” and the strife,
Claiming to be she,
Who she cannot be.
She goes along with the crowd,
And she is far too proud,
To even speak to a “geek” like me.
She’s too blind to see,
Too deaf to hear,
Too blind to steer.
She must always be right,
And she lives with the fright,
Of how she may cave in, even begin to pout,
When someone finally figures her out.
Well, you know as well as I do,
That that strange girl is surely not you.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Book