Fifteen (almost)

fifteen (almost)

adults always told them they were beautiful

that the other kids were jealous


one tries to fit in

wearing a mask of makeup

a hat of hairspray

over her long dirty-blond wavy curls

the other cut off hers herself

wears it at her cheekbones

carefully, so it doesn't curl

of course, their grandmother says

that they still have those

sparkly blue eyes.

The End

1 comment about this poem Feed