"I'll prove them wrong," her fingers say,
Clicking on a keyboard, somewhere I can't see.
"I'll show them that we really are in love,
And that I can be anything I want to be."
I imagine her staring intently
Through the glasses she refuses to remove,
Brandishing some anime wristband like a badge of honor.

It's been a while since we've talked.

I guess I should be proud of her,
But it's hard to take any of this seriously
Knowing that she was just as sure of herself
Three years ago, before she was fucking people
In the third-floor science rooms for kicks.

Yeah, yeah, we all grow up.
Maybe she's right about herself.
Hell, she was right about me, long before anyone else was.
I'm biased, of course. And I don't know the whole story.
My angle ends at the heroin-addict mother
And the grayed, lazy-looking father who muttered,
"Change out of that, you look like a slut,"
As her rottweiler eyed me cautiously.
Odds are I missed the important part.

Selfish as it sounds, though, I can't help
But feel sorry for the girl.
Because as loud as she talks and as bright as she smiles,
I've seen louder and brighter fall apart a dozen times before...
And I get the sinking feeling
She'll be crying again, alone on a school bus
Welling up tears behind those glasses,
Sometime sooner than later.
Last edited by flame843 at Mar 17, 2009,