She knew she wasn't bad looking, but she wasn't dumb.
She saw how the boys would turn to her blonder skinier friends.
She was the average sort of pretty.
So to compensate, she learned how to dress, how to apply makeup, how to act, according to the male gaze.
She became quite familiar with folowing routine.
"you are so pretty" he sends.
Types of his fingers that have touched so many other girls.
ugly girls,
gorgeous girls,
big girls,
little girls,
"you are so pretty" he says.
He doesn't even attempt to make it seem like he was looking at her face.
Eyes on her chest.
What he really means is 'she is pretty enough'
Speaks with the mouth that is hungry for every part of her but her insides throws what's beneath her skin to the floor.
Her personality was getting in his way of seeing just her body.
"you are so hot" he whispers.
'don't call me hot' she thinks herself.
'look into my eyes and call me beautiful'
But no one does.
So she wears the shirt that makes them look down and say "you are so pretty"
A word she didn't think she would have been called if he didn't look down, but no matter what she wears, they always look down, don't they?
And once the clock strikes midnight, he will ask her to come over.
"you are so hot" he repeats
And she will fake a smile because being called hot distracts her from reality.
That she has not once been called beautiful.
That without looking down boys wouldn't even see her.
On the way home from his house, her fake smile turned into real tears.
She looked in her rearvieuw mirror and she no longer saw a girl she labeled mediocre, average sort of pretty but something that was simply ugly.
Maybe because her beautiful parts where on his bedroom floor.
A body he stripped from its breathtaking mind and heart.
If only he held them gently, studied them intensely, he would have realised the girl he busied was a work of art.