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Emma

by Zanna, age 12


Far does my friend stand from me.
I watch her, and know she dreams to be free.
She chatters, and laughs, her friends too blind to see:
She's not the blue-eyes blond she pretends to be.

I can't help but think this isn't her.
And something more does lie beneath, screaming to be heard.
It's a lie, it's all fake, please God, make me sure
that inside that lip-glossed shell she cares about more than just "popular."

I loved her, once, so many years ago.
And in those six years I was gone, she learned to be someone else.

She gained status, and excessive social skills.
But depth, intellect? To her, what are those?
Her hopes; her dreams? Deeply buried, or gone.

So far has my friend-sister strayed from her dreams.
I watch her, knowing she'll never again be free....