The Sweet Girl

I always hear guys complaining about how girls never go for the nice guys.  Preaching that we are shallow: searching for height without depth, a jawline with no smarts, muscles with no honor. But even if that was true, don't guys do that too. 

I'm not tall, or gorgeous, or thin, or perfect and I am never chosen. I sit on the bleachers time and time again pretending I don't wish to play because I'm not pretty enough to be desired. Why do guys always choose the ones that will break their hearts --discard them as nothing as easily as they would a worn-out pair of shoes-- when there are girls who would cherish the very ground they walk on. Why do guys yell at the vanity of women only to place double standards on the impossible perfection that must be achieved to be desirable. Why when I shave my legs, do my hair, put on make-up, and starve my self am I still not enough? To even achieve a wayward glance. 

It's cause I'm the sweet girl. I'm the one you come to to put that broken heart back together. I'm the one that is too far below you to be a serious option. I'm the one that's too fat or too loud or too annoying, but nice enough. 

I'm the sweet girl. And sweet just isn't enough. Nor is smart, nor deep, nor giving, nor caring. Sweet is so forever not enough that I can't trust love is real when it comes to me. The world has taught me I am unlovable because I am not even close to the impossible expectations of women. 

So take the pretty one. I'll be here when you break.