She wants to feel pretty.
She wants to be loved.
She brushes up her make-up,
And slides on her white gloves.
As he rings the doorbell,
Her fragile heart nearly breaks before it drops.
When she opens the door, and on his face see’s the shock.
Her beauty was never noticed,
For she hid it in fear,
That no one would love her,
That no one would care.
She didn’t recognize how pretty she was,
No one ever informed her of her splendor,
For they crushed her with insults mentally.
Like dirt and blood in a blender.
Made her feel like she was nothing.
Special?
No such thing,
And for that he was even more honored,
That to her face, a smile he could bring.
For he loved her even more now, looking into her eyes.
Feeling like a punk,
Because the radiance in her skin almost made him want to cry.
He hands her the roses he’s bought,
And kisses her nose,
As she picks out and sniffs.
The front and center rose.
And she almost dies,
From this unbearable joy.
For, for once in her life,
A guy treated her like more then an object,
This was the most beautiful night.
And she drops to her knees,
As odd as it seems,
And starts thanking God
For that one feeling of pretty,
That he hadn’t failed her to bring.
- Holly