He’s so in love with all the things I hate
most about myself
I always wished I could be more
like the girls on my shelf.
But this is not a book
And he isn’t real
And it’s not romantic as I forlornly
write down what I feel.
I cannot wave a wand and be magically transformed
I can only stand here and be drenched by life’s storm.
But I’ll be alright, it’s a fading pain
No need to rush to save me
Cause I quite like the feeling of my hair slick with rain.