I’m a celebrity; thirteen years old and have lived
in this world for thirty years.
And I feel the same way, about everything.
The sound of fans shouting, wanting to be me.
Cold hands, wanting to touch me.
Bright, blinding flashes aimed towards me,
And I can see clearly.
But, I am not famous.
I have so many friends; they all add up to five.
The sky is blue, a perfect day. I can hang out with
anyone.
But, I feel New Year’s Peeved.
Because I put make up on this morning, we aren’t close;
We aren’t best friends.
Perfume finds its way through my nose,
And flys onto my tongue.
I can see it lingering on her skin.
I taste red.
The invisible racer of our feelings slowly walks
away, and begins to run.
I fly after that person, trying to find him, stop
him.
She will never find him, never.
Soon, she will give up and walk away, defeated.
Her bright, shining black hair covering her face.
The wind runs through me,
And I know.
Bright, shining black curtains waving through the
air,
Getting in the wind’s way.
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