Imposter

Imposter

7:50 AM., Knoch High School, Saxonburg, PA

*brrrring*

The bell

launches the adolescent fashion show,

up and down the hallways.

Big, crispy Aqua Net hair

thick eyebrows

Day-Glo

everywhere.

Vibrant comb handles spring

from back pockets of

tight! designer! jeans!

Bonjour, Gloria Vanderbilt, Guess, and

for the girls with

the luckiest butts: Oooh-la-la Sasson

embroidered hind ends

mocking me in my basic bargain Lees.

Finally, a blowout sale

on Jordache jeans

means Mom indulges me

a painfully tight pair

must compress

that humiliating ass of yours.

The ad plays in my head as I

struggle to close the sturdy brass fly.

She’s got the look! *pant pant suck*

She’s got the look! *ungh*

*ziiip* That Jordache Look!

My stomach looks flat,

A rectangular sign that reads ‘You’re being watched!’ in bold, all-capitalized letters. A security camera pointing up and towards the poem is below the sign.

but so does my butt,

and no matter how much mousse I use,

my hair’s flat too.

Feather earrings don’t vibe

with cheap knockoff polos

whose collars won’t stay popped.

Casually, I pull on knit leg warmers,

slide a braided purple headband

under perky side pony, but

I’m honestly trying here.

I care way too much, and I

don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

A drawing of six tall lockers on a piece of wrinkled torn paper.