Lunch in my school cafeteria,
Where allure masks repulsiveness,
Shallow beings congregate
With their own kind.
Girls bordering on womanhood
Color their perfect lips in pretty pink
While flipping and tossing Barbie bleached hair
Uttering harsh remarks about some other girl.
And the pubescent, testosterone driven boy-men
Drool hungrily at the girls
Exposing cleavage in barely passable
Calvin Klein low cut baby tees.
One glances toward me and snickers,
My loathsome, imperfect self
With pen to notebook paper
Composing this very poem.
I am far too inadequate for them
In my plain Jane Wal-Mart jeans;
And probably far too intelligent as well,
For I read Dickens and write poetry.
Yet I find I want to bawl angrily at
Their selfishness, their promiscuity,
Their unsightly magnificence
That I shamefully covet.
But I foresee a grim future for all of them,
A future of hard lessons learned,
Of incompetence and ignorance,
Unwanted pregnancy and menial labor.
They think they are untouchable,
That this thing they call popularity
Will last forever,
But you will fall like Lucifer
Into a lake of fire and brimstone.