to the high school drama queen

who was completely unoriginal,
and whose friends mocked the angry red welts (never scars)
slatted upon her wrists:

who wore too much make-up
and dressed too provocatively
and flirted with teachers to save her grade:

who wore combat boots because
they made her feel strong
while hiding behind a thin mask
of pride:

who never kept a mirror in the house,
because the truth was ugly
and the world was unfair:

who chose her trifles,
engaged in many of them,
and cried,
no matter which side she was on:

who always seemed to be the victim,
even though
the rest of us were standing by
with worse marks upon our wrists, and
in our heads:

who never knew what true pain could be like,
whose carefully unblemished skin
big facades
and ugly dark makeup
always helped to disguise: were never alone.