Fortune Cookie Girl

I hated that girl,
the one on the slide,
muscular, tan, a frown from inside.
The girl was a cookie,
framing a fortune inside,
reading "a stuck up prep with nothing to hide."

Or so she thought,
as she sat on her throne,
made of stone,
but raw as a bone,
shining with self-admiration.

What I didn't tell her,
what I wanted to say,
What killed me inside when I looked her way,
was that she was no different from you or from me,
just another person by that house on that street.

But if I had tried,
said it aloud,
I'd be beaten by broomsticks of ignorant mouths.
Afterall,
they think she's the queen.