My lips are chapped.
I don’t fit in small sizes.
I’ve got messy hair,
I don’t have clear skin.
I’m not smart
I’m not ‘cool’.
My eyes hide behind thick glasses,
I’m too soft to be heard and
I crack lame jokes.
This girl doesn’t have that fire in her.
But it’s your loss that you,
You don’t see my raw smile, the most genuine one you’ll see
Don’t see how well every inch of me fits with my piano pedal and keys
Nor how wildly beautiful my hair gets after an hour of dancing in the rain
And you haven’t held my warm, welcoming hands
Haven’t been blown away by the whirlwind that is my mind.
You don’t know or care how thoughtful I am
Or see my eyes shining every sunrise, every morning.
You don’t hear me sing lullabies to my cat every night
So she doesn’t go to bed crying like I do
Your loss that you’re oblivious and
You think I’m a burnt out matchstick
When really- there’s this glowing ember waiting
To engulf you with its flame.