Two Little Girls

May 18, 2013
It’s not even the actuality of it that could be seen from the outside
It’s the underlying meaning, a “you had to be there” situation
Crumbled up pieces of paper, the only feasible way we could communicate
Due to the words our tongues refused to put together
That only a pencil in hand could project
Slyly passed in class containing lies
Little lies about minuscule things
Things that didn’t have to matter
That could have easily been overlooked
But became lies in moments of panic and fear.
We hide. We hide behind personas built up and concocted by our fears,
Only feeling safe and secure enough to reveal our true selves
In the presence of each other
She’s a mirrored reflection of me; opposite, yet containing the same qualities
She’s confident but weak, and I’m weak but confident.
Who you think she is makes you want to hate her, but you can’t.
I can’t. I can’t because I actually know who she is.
Her confidence disguises the weakness and fear that is offered to several, seen by few and accepted by one. Me.
We would sit on the wooden floor of my walk in closet,
And pour our hearts out about how unhappy we were,
Only being able to do so while surrounded by something that we both had a dangerous adoration for,
But when we stepped out we were completely different people.
People who others thought were happy,
A heart to heart in a closet full of clothes accomplishing nothing.
I panic and worry when I can’t put an outfit together that’s acceptable to hide behind.
She does the same, but while pretending not to panic or worry.
She’s always been stronger than me in that sense; a better liar.
The little lies soon became not one, not two, but three too many,
Three coincidently being a lucky number of both of ours,
Petty fights often arising over who got to have it.
There were so many little lies, that we could no longer understand what was real.
We got mean and we got manipulative towards each other,
And we tried to blame those actions on who we were pretending to be,
And not on who we actually were, when in reality our personas had become us.
A friendship that we often called a sisterhood lost in translation,
And so simply tossed away thanks to the stupid and naïve qualities
That two scared little girls unintentionally developed
Two scared little girls who didn’t know how to love anyone, let alone their selves.

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AdaCohen This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jun. 3, 2013 at 8:42 am
i'm not really a large fan of extended sentence poetry, but i'm feelin' this poem,. i get it, since you know i'm kinda like this with my friends. nice job.
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