Look at them. Girls. Look at their hair. Perfect.
See, she doesn't like how she looks. But that smile? Gorgeous. I'd kill for that smile.
I wish she just knew how perfect she is. If she did, she'd be much happier. She'd be able to see how much I care. But she can't.
She considers me as a friend. Because I am female. And that is why I can't tell her about her beauty. Because friends are supposed to tell you that.
It'd make a difference if it came from a guy. She likes guys. I'd tell her that she has a choice, but... She favors people who have a choice, and believes she doesn't have one.
Maybe she's not all that. Maybe she's not good for me. Maybe she's... Who am I kidding?
She's amazing. She deserves love. Unlike me. I hate her because I love her.
That's weird to say. But it's the truest thing I've said all week. All year. All.. all my life.
I can't accept her beauty from afar. I either am right there with her, breathing it in. Or I'm distanced and cold to the fact she exists. Such is my weakness.
(I don't know if this counts as a poem. I just wrote down what I felt without editing.)