I met one in middle school—she was the prettiest thing
it was her blonde hair, and cute teeth, and air-head airs
and perfect blue eyes, and sweet dimpled cheeks
She had already figured-out, she could get whatever she wanted
she didn’t know.
My aunt said, “She’s such a pretty thing.”
And I pretended like I didn’t know
Back then, I had a certain kind of wisdom
that comes with knowing,
there are only certain things you can control
and a woman who makes every boy in school do, what she wants them to
is as far away from that, as wishes are from kisses.
She wore her black thong above her jeans
like a lustful shoelace
and the boys gathered around, to give her what she wanted
and I paid her no mind
because I knew my thoughts would cost me too much
and one day she asked me for a dollar fifty
to buy some nachos for lunch
and I said, “No.”
“You are mean!” She cried, and stomped off.
It was the only word I said to her in middle school.
and I was probably the only boy who told her “No.”
I didn’t think of it then,
because I said “No”
Now, that I look back on it,
In 7th grade, I saw her mom
She was blonde too, with a faded face
and overweight grace
and clothes that didn’t care about fashion or style
a difficult life
with only faith, to hold onto
This good girl, who I knew
dyed her hair blue
and married an electrician
popping-out three babies
and loving them, despite her post-partum depression.
Now, she cries on Facebook and complains about how she isn’t beautiful anymore
and her friends comfort her
with reassuring false words
She thinks, men are evil
accusing her husband of nasty things.
Her friends, sew her love
in the threads
“Leave your husband. You deserve better.”
But she knows, she isn’t beautiful, anymore
and even the naivest male
won’t date her
because her colors
Poisonous things advertise
with greens and blues
and multicolored tattoos
killed by chemicals
acidic, eating away
of the female
until the good girl
is a gone girl.