Moments of desperation make days of vulnerability
"Tell me I'm pretty"
"Don't I look cute in my dress?"
Look at me.
I look so **** fine and nobody's jaws are on the ground.
My eyes are gorgeous right now
my hair like silk
so why aren't you eye-******* my brains out?
When you get in this state
after disappointment and having your ribcage bashed with a wrecking ball
you want attention
and you hate it.
You hate the self-centered need for compliments
you want chisled men with rippling six-packs
to compliment the curvature of your collarbone
but what?
Nope
not even the skeezes pay a bit of attention
(probably for the best)
because they can smell the instability.
They know underneath that revealing top
is a blubbering girl dying for some double-chocolate icecream and a Ryan  Gosling flick
over and over
"If you're a bird, I'm a bird"
"I want you. Forever and always."
Silent and strong
sweet and sturly
just cuddle me and pay me compliments like a little sweet slave
don't be *****
just tell me my cheek bones are sculpted and my lashes are lush
and my side bends are really making a difference.
Shallow little pick -me- ups,
vocal vicodin
just gimme some nice narcotic attention
so I can stop obsessing
about how lame I was,
how close,
and how he still chose her.