She has this orange hair that shines in sunlight and I think it makes her look like a pumpkin, but everyone would have to disagree. They say, with the way it falls to the middle of her back, and frames her pretty face she looks like a goddess. They say it cascades down her back like a waterfall, I say it's like someone tied rope to her scalp and let it hang limp. She has these orange bangs that cut her forehead off her face and it stops right at her eyes. Her eyes, everyone says they're beautiful. They're blue, mine are blue too. She surrounds hers with make-up, cakes her skin in powder and paint and I think it makes her look like a clown, but no one would agree if you were to ask around.
She has this porcelain skin that makes me want to push her off her pedestal and watch it crack and shatter as she hit the ground. My skin looks like it's covered in dirt, if I were to lie on the ground I bet one would not see me and they'd step on me. Sometimes I wonder if footprints help one from getting lonely, or if they're just cold reminders from where you've been. I bet one could easily get Miss Porcelain-Skin dirty, why would anyone want to take their time cleaning her up everyday and being so careful as to not get a speck of dirt on her.
They say she has these pretty hips and pretty legs. She has the cutest bones you've ever seen, just take a look at her ribcage. She has a mole on her neck and I think it looks like someone squashed a fly right there and never bothered to take it off. They say it makes her look sophisticated, like a lady of the sorts. They like the way she dresses up in different costumes, I think it's stupid, I think not even she likes herself. I wonder if she hates herself as much as I do. She has this button nose and these deep red lips and if she were to kiss you would I be able to tell? Would I see the stain on your lips, or would I find it somewhere else? Would I see it in your eyes?
But I wouldn't know, do I even want to know? It doesn't even matter because I couldn't know. I never see your eyes anymore. I have your heart and you have mine. We have each other's backs and we share our thoughts and dreams and mixed them together to create a future we could call ours. I have your hand in mine and I tug on it and your legs move in my direction. You hear everything I say about houses at the beach and trips to Brazil and Europe. You nod your head. You even tell me things about campfires and little pairs of feet. But I look at you with a mixture of fondness and fear, but you don't see it. Your eyes are on her.