where did the moon go?

seventeen. -

walking head down in the crowd.
face fixed on the ground.
arms tightly wound
around a textbook.
as if to shield away the evil.
to keep out the bad.
to hold on to what is left of the good.
eyes, locked ahead
to see the feet of those coming.
to know how to dodge.
to learn how to hide
in crowded places
with enough faces
to know one is not alone.

such a shame
such a pretty face
lowered to the ground
such bright eyes
locked on the floor ahead of her
such pretty lips
left unstained to attract no attention
because she doesn't want to be seen
such a cute little body
layered over and over with bulky clothes
she doesn't want to be seen
no, she doesn't want to be seen
because she doesn't deem herself pretty enough
because one boy too many made her feel she wasn't enough
because she sees her peers and doesn't look like them
so she, by process of elimination, isn't pretty

but she has her own qualities
ones that make her unique
ones those Instagram pretty girls don't have
yeah, her laugh can be annoying
yeah, her nose is too deep in a book
yeah, she can talk for hours about a video game no one likes
but isn't that what makes her special?

no, it makes her weird.
it makes her nerdy.
it makes her geeky.
apparently not in a good way.
at least, according to herself.

her friends constantly assure her she isn't all bad
but she sees the negatives more than the positives
unfortunately, he finetuned her that way
made her see the bad more than the good.

so she shall continue walking solemnly through crowds,
shall break eye contact with every person she sees on her way to class
shall move faster than her legs can carry her
because if she can help it
she won't be seen.