I sit alone at this table by the wet windows,

Staring at my plate, playing with my pintos.

Letting my tears pool on the grey laminate,

And overhearing who the girls want to date.

Lifting my eyes to that one empty space,

The one where I used to happily take my place.

That one next to the cheerleader and the prom queen,

And across from the girl who’s always mean.

The way my words used to hold so much weight,

Since I was dubbed pretty sitting with them was fate.

But then one day a new topic was suddenly interesting,

About sex, vaping, and how much we’d been drinking.

My cheeks burned red and my eyes fell to the floor,

After I told them the truth, I now was a bore.

So here I sit with my emotions twisted in a whirl,

As they choose a new topic: the perfect little church girl.