Six twenty-eight of the second of four; Not your type

She’s never the girl you’d first notice

or, you actually wont notice her in a crowd

She’s never the kind you’d give a second look at

or stare at while she passes you by

She’s not the kind people talk about, or even dream about

She’s ordinary, too much, you come to think she’s worthless

You leave her behind, because you think it’s okay

She’s not hard to let go of

She’s not a big hole in your world

You don’t see her as a strong person, but enough to handle being let down, or taking rejects, and feeling unloved

She’s too hard to understand, so you don’t try

She can make your spare time okay, but not the type you’d spend it all with

She’s too nice, you think

Too sweet, too kind, you still haven’t seen her get mad

And it amazes you, but you feel it’s all too soft and safe. Not the fire you’d put your hands on. Not the wave you can ride on.

In a week’s time, you go from wanting her, to ignoring her

Her hands are far too fragile to hold,

her waist, your arms cannot form the puzzle with because it is too curved

You assume she’s used to all the things you make her feel. You must not be the only one.

But this is because you’re the reason she sees the same to herself

you’re the reason why she can pick herself up, but carries scars from wounds your words created

she can walk by herself, but have layers of discomfort from the times you made her feel she’s never enough.

 

So this is how you see her, and this is how you’re not worthy for her.

 

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