it’s fine, i’ll find company within
my strands.
pretty girls are made to wait
for boys with impatient ribs.
it’s fine, i’ll scratch until my
skin bleeds the right way.
pretty girls are built to apprehend
every assault.
it’s fine, i’ll pace my room until posters merge.
pretty girls are assembled to bite
their lips
and wear bruised knees.
it’s fine,
because all boys let me do is
wait.
and i don’t know if i’m one of those
pretty girls,
but i sure know boys will continue
throwing me into the
sea.