this world

she’s not made for this world
of cropped tops and cold shoulders
of high-pitched cruelty
and eyeliner wings sharp enough to kill 
but she’d sell her soul
just to sit with them for five minutes

and she does

she watches them like a hawk,
obsessed, desperate
pausing their posts like scripture
studying every move like it’s gospel
breaking herself down
to build up a version of them in her skin

she wants in.
bad.
so bad she’d slit the throat of the only hand
that ever reached out to pull her up

she practices their walk
hips first, pride dragging behind
rehearses their smirks in the mirror
until her face forgets how to look kind
she learns to speak with a sneer
to laugh at pain that isn’t hers
especially yours

she trades everything
your late-night talks
your safety
your friendship
all of it,
for a smile from the queen bee
and a nod from her court of cowards

and when they come around
the ones she’s been chasing like a fix
she’ll drop you like dead weight
act like she never needed saving
never needed you

she’ll leave your messages on read
because she’s too busy basking
in borrowed attention
and thinking it’s love

she’ll say “we’re still cool”
with a smile she didn’t earn
but don’t believe it

she already chose
and it wasn’t you

because in that world
loyalty is disposable
and masks are more valuable than mirrors

she thinks she’s finally in
finally seen
finally safe

but the truth is
they only let her sit at the table
so they’d have someone to feed to the fire next

and when the shine fades
when the heat turns cold
she’ll look around
and realize

she burned every bridge
for a seat in the ashes

not in the gold.