I saw her one day, at school
She was absolutely gorgeous and I was too shy
She looked like a model while I just loved to eat all day and all night
I knew I had zero chance with her, but I decided to give it a try

I approached her at lunch, I said "Hey"
She smiled and started a conversation
I couldn't have been happier that day

We started hanging out together since then
But my spirits dropped when a guy much more 'fit' tried to win her heart
And one day when we were  talking he came up and asked her to be his girlfriend

I could feel tears coming out of my eyes
But of joy not sadness because she said
"Oh sorry. I'm dating this guy," and pointed to me

Later when we were alone she confessed that she liked me
I asked her "Why? I'm just curves, the kind people don't wanna see"
She said " I don't care what you look like, because I care for what's inside
Besides, there's only

One                                           Me
        
       Curve                            To
          
                  ­That      Matters

an actual line from a poem i wrote over a year ago:
*I couldn't help but blush, you arrogant *******.

but why do i like you.
why do i give a ****.
i shouldn't give two *****, and yet here i am.
to know that i'll be seeing you tomorrow drives me crazy,
but knowing that i'll never see you again in a year drives me insane.

you remind me of so much dumb ****.
it's sappy **** and i don't like it.
my poems are literally vents there's no art here.

and i'm sorry for being such a ******* disappointment.
i guess i'm glad we were a little close last year.
**** i **** *** but you **** more.

"oh yeah, and he likes to write."

that's all i had to hear.
and my mind was sent into a tumbling abyss,
a mess of words and sentences not quite put together.
and i can't help but wonder,
what ails him?
what causes him to put his pen to paper,
to write the unsaid words just resting on his lips.

i could imagine it would be flowery,
a sugar-coated image of the world,
because whatever he is seeing, it's beautiful.
and i want in, i want to see what he sees, feel what he feels.

but i can't.
he likes science because
it explains the complexities of the earth,
it showcases its beauty.
and i can't see that beauty
in anything but him
and those eyes that are seeing otherwise.

and oh,
how i long to read those words scratched out in ink