In the music

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

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