poor insecure child.
you see people locking eyes and holding hands,
furtive glances exchanged from shy eyes,
soft touches and lingering kisses.
you see the boy.
the one you wish you had the courage to confess to,
and he's looking at someone else,
someone more beautiful.
you wonder.
if the problem lies within your soul,
or within the mirror you loathe to see.
your mouth will forever echo with
unspoken words
