A wire fence blinds her shadow,
Giving her holes allover. I see her picture painted on the tennis courts,
It echoesperfection,
Or at least want for perfection. It moves when she moves,
Itwears the same puffy skirt,
Although you can't see the plaid.
Her hair isorange now,
But the shadow won't show you that. She made the mistake of dyingblack hair blond,
Without bleach.
I hear my name across theplayground,
I obviously wasn't supposed to hear it,
And then I hearlaughter.
Her shadow moves with the force of some hilarious joke always

having to do with me. Then she looks at me,
sees my face and herlaughter stops.
Always wanting to be accepted,
Emilee walksaway,
Knowing that she never will be.
Never can be.
She walks up tome,
Nervously blushing,
The way she always does.
She apologizes forwhatever it was she did,
Or didn't do,
Or will do.
And knowingEmilee,
This isn't the last apology.