Cheerleaders are happy, or so it seems,
On the sidelines, bright, the object of dreams.
Voices high and eyes starlit, such joy in autumn.
They own the world from the top to the bottom.
So it seems.
Angels to me, as I sit in the stands, close and huddled.
Thinking of their kisses and all the boys they’ve cuddled.
Just to watch them on a night so cool and crystal clear.
I can’t believe the end is coming, that this is my senior year.
Life moves on.
And where will we go, when we’ve been sent on into life?
Will I be happy, will I be chosen? Will they be a beloved wife?
Do they know the darkness that I’ve known, that in the night grows,
the sorrows of loneliness, the weight of air wrapped through their clothes?
Do they know?
Those uniforms blue and white, so beautiful and so clean under lights.
The long sleeves that cover scars and the enchanting white of their tights.
I crafted angels wings for their backs in hopes that I might fly with them.
I crafted diadems for their heads that they might chose me on some whim.
But all are flesh, and broken.