This girl stares me down, behind my back she stabs. Her whispers are heard through the halls and rooms, as she sits on her own pedestal. It bothers me at times, but it always makes me feel important. Important enough for someone to talk about me, about my attire and personality. Though it may be in a negative light, they actually have breath to tell my own friends that I don’t match, I’m weird, and need style. But I just laugh in pity, pity for the conformists, for their Abercrombie and 70 dollar jeans. All that R & B and molded boy bands, teeny boppers and preppy high almightys; wrapped in magazines and MTV, need I say anymore?Back Home 1-09-04 Ashley Lauer
