Her smile is beautiful
but it trembles ever so slightly
so that you can hardly see it
an autumn leaf, in the middle of fall
deciding whether or not to break from the branch
Her laugh is tentative
deciding whether or not to really let go
and her laugh is shaky
a small accidental vibrato in her throat
that catches its tremor ever so slightly
And her words wash over you,
accompanied by the cool breath of Altoids
and a leaf of the iceberg salad that she had for lunch
(no dressing please)
When she walks into a room
the air stills
not because she holds presence,
but merely because she lacks it
a rippling shadow that's gray and silver
against the dark ebony of the chalkboard
Her shoulders are ***** and upright
stiff and still
like a solider's stance
when standing at 'attention' in the middle of a battle
with the same dead expression
of seeing too much
that you want to go blind because of that
with the same stiff arms
that grip a pencil tightly
so that the whites of her knuckles are prominent and jutting
and you fear that the wood will snap under her detached temper
But her tears are not beautiful
because frankly,
sadness is not beautiful in itself
when it's on the page that you're reading
further ahead, maybe
but not in the present
And this is a girl who strives to be normal
without even looking up the definition
who eats skimpy iceberg salads at lunch with friends who all
have pizza and fries
who constantly buys Altoids so frequently that she has a whole
box in her room full of empty tins
who is more aware of herself than anyone else
and this is a girl
who is insecure
A girl who loves without return
A girl who can laugh and cry and be just fine the next day
A girl who swears on a god that she doesn't necessarily believe
A girl who feels something when a boy smiles at her just the right way
A girl who is you
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
Her smile is beautiful
but it trembles ever so slightly
so that you can hardly see it
an autumn leaf, in the middle of fall
deciding whether or not to break from the branch
Her laugh is tentative
deciding whether or not to really let go
and her laugh is shaky
a small accidental vibrato in her throat
that catches its tremor ever so slightly
And her words wash over you,
accompanied by the cool breath of Altoids
and a leaf of the iceberg salad that she had for lunch
(no dressing please)
When she walks into a room
the air stills
not because she holds presence,
but merely because she lacks it
a rippling shadow that's gray and silver
against the dark ebony of the chalkboard
Her shoulders are ***** and upright
stiff and still
like a solider's stance
when standing at 'attention' in the middle of a battle
with the same dead expression
of seeing too much
that you want to go blind because of that
with the same stiff arms
that grip a pencil tightly
so that the whites of her knuckles are prominent and jutting
and you fear that the wood will snap under her detached temper
But her tears are not beautiful
because frankly,
sadness is not beautiful in itself
when it's on the page that you're reading
further ahead, maybe
but not in the present
And this is a girl who strives to be normal
without even looking up the definition
who eats skimpy iceberg salads at lunch with friends who all
have pizza and fries
who constantly buys Altoids so frequently that she has a whole
box in her room full of empty tins
who is more aware of herself than anyone else
and this is a girl
who is insecure
A girl who loves without return
A girl who can laugh and cry and be just fine the next day
A girl who swears on a god that she doesn't necessarily believe
A girl who feels something when a boy smiles at her just the right way
A girl who is you
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