All fitting in perfectly

Like puzzle pieces of the social cliques

All beautifully correct

How can you be beautiful

With scar-covered arms

No beauty with held

In the tom-boy dressing

No pastels or bright colours to be seen

Just dark to blend in the shadows

Their bodies like sticks, ready to snap

Their classic clothes, all expensive and branded

Hair always gleaming and perfect

Always preened to all their high status quotas

Heads held high

Full of confidence

Over shadowing the people below them

Not worth knowing

Only enough notice given to disregard others outfits

And make them feel proud.