If I were one of them,
I would be treated like a celebrity.
The taste of the power.
I’d be on the top,
And I would feel indestructible.
Our classmates would dream of being
One of us.
But they wouldn’t be,
And they never will be.
Yet they would still try to be me,
Because I’d be “flawless.”

Our synchronized steps would echo
Through the halls,
As we would walk with confidence.
Our outfits would speak for themselves,
A different one for each day.
I would feel their eyes staring at me,
But I’d know that they are just simply jealous.
Our “group” would be like a V.I.P. area.
Exclusive,
And lots of rejection.

We would be sought-after.
They would copy our everything,
In effort to be just like us.
They know we would gossip,
Start rumors,
And lie,
Yet they still would want to be one of us.

In reality,
I’m not one of them,
Inferior.

Their words leave scars.
I can see them glaring at me,
Their obvious whispers.
Snobby.
Arrogant.
The epitome of the word “clique.”








High school is like a jungle, and they are the lions.
They are the kings,
Technically queens, of the jungle.
Their stares
Of judgment,
They burn.

We are no different,
Yet they think they are “better.”
Why do people admire them?
Why do I?


Their expensive perfume fills the halls.
My sweatpants are no match for their perfectly matched outfits.
They enjoy seeing our jealousy,
It brings them pleasure.
We fear them,
Yet we want to be just like them.
They are too powerful.
Maybe they just truly are
Superior.

One day I will be one of them,
I will be the one that they are jealous of.
They will bow down to me,
As if I were the queen.
I would no longer be inferior,
I would be one of the superior.