He likes the girls who have blonde, sunny hair
He likes the girls who throw parties at their parents boat house every weekend
The ones who got a car for their high school graduation
The ones who look like the girls spread over a boat in Vogue
The ones whose mothers let them have sleepovers with a girl they just became best friends with
I will never have honey blonde hair
If I leave my parents apartment I can never go back
I will probably be thirty when I finally get a car
I will never be sprawled over a boat in Vogue, I’ve never even been on a boat
My mother would kill me before letting me sleep at another house when I already have one
I will never be one of those girls, not to him
So maybe
Maybe I will only ever have the moments when he plays a song
and the sound from the speakers hits deep in my bones
I sing along
and from across the room he will look to me
and I will look at him
and we will both be singing along
-A little angsty poem I wrote, not one I particularly like, but I can’t seem to get over this crush so I’ll keep writing bad poetry about it!
-Annette
