The beautiful girls that surround me
Only wish to be perfect.
They want to love an equally beautiful boy.
Girls want to stand out
And be the best.
I, however, don’t want to be the best,
Yet I don’t want to be the worst.
I want to be “average”
And blend into the wall,
An ugly, yellowed color.
If I wrote a book
I wouldn’t want anyone to read it
Because I knew their minds,
Pretty as a doll’s,
Would have thoughts about it,
Thoughts that I could not control.
It’s not that I’m scared of bad thoughts
I’m just scared of those pond like blue eyes
Liquidized under a glassy gaze
Seeing me and analyzing,
Seeing me as a person
And realizing that I think quite like them.
I am scared that they will see my feelings
And they will look inside my crooked soul
And try to fix something
That is already quite alright.
You see, I am quite content
Living in my own little bubble
Alone and unnoticed.