Dear Edgy Girl
Dear Edgy Girl,
You probably hate being called Edgy Girl.
You’re not doing anything on purpose,
It’s your genuine self.
But I can’t seem to believe it.
Your spikes a surrender of sincerity,
Your leather a lackluster attempt at leverage,
Your red lips a plagiarized signature of femininity.
You negated my identity.
So I’ve made it my mission to negate yours.
I’m sorry that my prayers for your demise have worked,
Triggered trauma far greater than I can understand.
As the smoke winds out from your stale cigarette,
An overused sign of rebellion,
My lips sneer at the habit,
(One I occasionally revisit)
Signaling my own sense of superiority,
Of uneasy insecurity.
I’m sorry I believe that I won a race you never entered;
That I endured a marathon you were never trained to run,
A competition in which you could never prevail.
I stalk through your photos
In hopes of understanding
Secrets I am not entitled to knowing.
A simmering crock-pot of jealousy.
A home-cooked pile of envy.
I see my fears in your battle scars.
My nightmares in the cracks of your armor.
Better you than me.
Girl Who is Purging Her Hate