i think your eyes are pretty and your smile is pretty and your hair is pretty and your legs shot heat down my spine.
but you're not that pretty up close you wear your eyeliner like the thick outline of bad clipart and when your legs aren't moving, i forget who you are. the girl beside you toys with the ends of her hair and her thighs are tanned and bare just like yours. her voice is syrup, sugar content too high, and it's all i can do to keep my mouth upturned, to partake in the pleasantries of small talk.
you are just another girl with hair extensions and jeans cut at the pockets. when you speak, it is hard to hear beyond the cotton candy vowels that think you are still a little girl (did you ever grow up?).
i want to lift your parietal bone and look for something other than pretty and legslegslegs.