All That


She’s not even all that.
She struts in, loud and demanding of attention.
She sits next to him, demanding of affection.
Twirls her hair, takes out a stick of lipgloss.
All that for him, just to get her point across.
Hair done and caked up by the crack of dawn.
So he can flaunt his backbone and brawn.
Is male validation really that addictive?
But I stay quiet, a seat behind her, like a cricket.
He’s not even all that.
Is what she told me that night lying down on my mat.
Words sincere, eyes sparkling like a cat.
She looks in the mirror, complaining about her face.
I tell her she’s beautiful, words dripping with grace.
She tugs on my skirt and looks up with a smile.
She asks me, why don’t you stay a while?
I tell her of course, because I’d do anything.
But she wouldn’t, told me by cutting our string.
She walks in, dripping with confidence, head held high.
Soft hair flowing like she doesn’t even try.
She’s definitely all that.

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