The cool ones,
            hungry wolves,
hunting in packs of polo shirts,
            and cheer-leading uniforms...
Hanging on to each other's words,
            any thing that smells of hurt,
                                                    lies,
                                                          and rug burn...
Victims waiting in line...
            All waiting to be mauled.
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The dark ones,
             secret flamingos,
trying to be different,
             in their black leather jackets,
                                         but failing miserably...
Stuck in their own pack,
             colorful in their matching blacks,
wanting to be different...
                                         but always being the same...
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The "true" ones,
             eagles, scavengers,
heads held high,
             with sharp, cynical eyes...
Believing they are bold
                                          and surreal...
But really just picking at bits
              of all the gossip, all the fake,
all the lies...
Keepsakes for later,
                                          for hard times...
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The lost ones...
              Broken birds,
trying to find a safe place,
              listening to the voices
of others to guide them...

Limping, abused...
              An open heart corrupted
                                            by a phony world...