''Girls only like *******.''
I grimace at those words
as I happily take the compliments
laced with sexuality
bestowed upon me by some guy with good cheekbones,
who practices his lines.
I hate that he gives me butterflies.

I try and replicate that fluttering feeling
with the guy who's nervously stumbling over
the dorky love letters from his heart.
I know he's sincere,
unpractised,
And I'm made guilty for cringing at his face.
(It's slimy
I'm sorry.)

But you were awkward
and nervous
and oh so uncalm
you had a little extra weight and a grin you despise
and I love,
and your words were all scribbled on notebook paper
with lines covering every time you
underestimated the blue in my eyes
(you needed better ways to describe.)
But you gave me more than butterflies
I was in love with the ''nice guy''
so why'd you leave my side?