Oneshots and Short Stories

To the Boy Who Called Me Creepy

Oh, sweet ginger.

Your innocent blue eyes

and freckled face had me fall,

even if you were a few inches shorter than me.

So when I finally got over you with some other boy,

I didn't feel it as I would have.

The word, enough to tear through skin,

or at least make me cry in geometry.

But then, as I was sitting in the class

after getting back from my cry sess,

what if I was beautiful?

What if I had looked at you in Spanish,

but I had doe eyes as big as Chloe's,

and as blue as Molly's,

and hair as blonde as Emma's,

and a frame as small as Mary's.

What if I didn't look like a bitch when I was just thinking,

or was as smart as Brooke.

And who knows?

My cousin was sitting next to you anyway.

Stop being so selfish.

What if whenever a guy walked passed me in the hall,

I raised up my skirt a little higher.

Or, in health, when Mr. Fancher said gays weren't born that way,

I remained silent,

instead of putting in my two cents.

Or when Ryan asked if I spent my free time having sexy Skype conversations with Nyk,

I had said I wish

instead of no.

There is a list of stuff I did that would be cute if I had not talked

or said something different,

or did something different,

but I did that for me,

not you.

So stop thinking I think you're my god,

when you should start following your own.