pretty girls go pretty places where people can see them sitting pretty.

why did that make me mad so fast? because i dont want to use that wallet, or maybe because acting pretty isnt priority number one, or that i act ugly when i am out of things to do or say. because i can sense pretty, and it pierces me with ribs sticking out into my personal space bubble and sense of pride in being genuine and believable. experience is valuable, girls. so put down your damn hair straighteners and look at the world. it all came down to what i do is nothing. i never wanted to be friends, but you were too busy looking in a mirror to see me at least trying.

the world is starting, and you havent even begun to grow up or walk around the corner of your street.

so meticulously, they comb every strand, ensuring its fate against their tense shoulders.