That Girl

February 3, 2010
By Anonymous

Sometimes the girl
With the long face
And those lean eyebrows
Looks familiar

Familiar like those stars that shine above
In a bruised sky with nothing but the moon
And the clouds to comfort them
To remind them that it's okay to shine
That it's okay to be different and the same
All at one time

But sometimes the girl
With the dyed hair
And the washed out eyes
Looks like the person
She once dreaded

Dreaded like those pale masks kids wore
On Halloween night three years ago
Scaring leaves off of trees
And petals off of flowers
Without a care as to whom they hurt
With their smiling faces
Wicked eyes too powerful
That leave no traces

Sometimes that girl wishes
That she could become
Who she used to be
To revert back to those clothes
That makeup
Those shoes
Revert back to the world where she dreamed
Where she dreamed up people and things
Too good and too evil for their own good

But her life is filled with conformity
To be like that girl with nothing
But a solid record
Of getting boys and
Getting what she wanted
To be friends with that girl
With her hair pulled too tight
Against her soft scalp
To fragile and skinny in
Her dainty, showy clothes

That girl was who she had desired to become
And with it she got the things she never wanted
The things she never wanted to deal with
The things she wanted now but didn't before.

She had once been an aspiring writer
But that girl told her
That dreams were for five year olds and girls who wore
Skinny jeans
Or nerds with no life
So the dream of being an aspiring writer
Was crushed
Because she knew that if she became one
She'd be destroyed and unwelcome
Into the scene of the girls
With pink lip gloss and mini skirts

She had once liked pottery
But that same girl told her
That pottery was for people who liked getting their hands dirty
Not like them who got their hands dirty
In a different way
Pottery was for people who had no life
Except to spend hours
Making sculptures and bowls
For people who would never use them.
So the thought of ever liking pottery again
Was a crushed idea

She had once liked a boy
A boy with jet black hair
And blue eyes
But that girl told her
That the boy with jet black hair
Was hers and no one could touch him
Not even his mother
So liking that boy with the blue eyes
Was out of the question
A broken thought

When she finally realized that she couldn't have anything
Not even her heart or her thoughts
It was too late to change
Because then she'd be tossed around
Thrown about
Crushed by that girl
That girl who wanted everything to go her way
That girl who got everything
That girl who couldn't share
That girl who stole
Reverting back to her old self
Would cause chaos
Things too much to bear

But sometimes
The girl
With the long face
And those lean eyebrows
Thinks that returning to her once-sane self
Would make things better
She could become that aspiring writer
She could like pottery again
She could even go after that boy
With the jet black hair and blue eyes
But that girl
Doesn't like individuality
She likes people to be just like her
Yet not

Peer pressure
Will we ever understand
What makes people this way?
Will we ever be able
To stop it?
Maybe not.
But still
Sometimes the girl
With the dyed hair
And the washed out eyes
Likes to pretend she was that person she used to be
But only when she's alone
Because if that girl found out
She'd be destroyed
And blackmail is a witch
With a big, fat, capital B.

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