The Girl

I am the girl.

The girl with a shirt for every day of the week,
The girl who finds blood and gross things neat.
The girl excited over plastic figurines,
The girl who’s excited about posters you don’t cut from magazines.
The girl who reads books backwards and upside down,
The girl who gets scared and freaked out by a clown.
The girl who thinks rap is disgusting and old,
The girl who hates exclamation points and words in bold.
The girl who always types properly,
The girl who never freaks out over a bee.
The girl who plays video games all the time,
The girl who likes rain and hates the sunshine.
The girl who thinks make-up is for squares,
The girl who sticks her feet up on the chair.
The girl who thinks soccer is dumb and corrupt,
The girl whose words are always abrupt.
The girl who wears sneakers at all times,
The girl who knows every syllable for the word “chimes.”

Yeah, so she’s different,
But what about you?
Are you unique,
Or dead inside too?
She’s stuck in a place,
Desolate, nothing there.
You in the same position,
Would you be scared?
If not, you should think so,
Put yourself in her place.
If you don’t feel sorry,
Then you’re such a disgrace.