She Was Like You, I’m Sure

I used to know a girl like you.
She had blue eyes.
Offhand, this is the only memorable thing about her.
Dark circles slowly seeped from under the dull-sapphire eyes.
She wore a Mickey Mouse Club shirt with green sleeves that stopped below the scars.
She had big hands and frizzy hair, too.
She was a product of American society.
Capitalistically in-bred with insecurities all around her.
She smiled only for the camera, and the unease was left in her eyes.
Simple girl, with simple braids.
She was like you, I’m sure.
She was like me.
She grew up, and there she changed.
She’s like you, I’m like her.
But we didn’t die, and yet she did.