she sits in silence,
the faint sound of the song she’s listening to
fills the dimly lit room with calmness.
“i don’t need fixing,” she says,
with a quivering voice, not being able to
look at other people in the eyes.
yet, her eyes are red from all the pot she inhales,
her lungs are tired from all the nicotine she smokes,
her feet are sore from the gold high heels she uses,
and she prays and prays and prays and hopes
that she does not kill herself tonight.
but perhaps, a tiny piece of her heart wishes
that a boy will sweep her off her feet
and save her from drowning in her own thoughts;
for she always looks for boys who care about her,
sweet boys who genuinely listen to her,
lovely boys who are just as passionate as her,
unbroken boys that can fix her.
she prays and prays and prays and hopes that
one day a boy will move her heart so much
that he would be able to
move her heart to
fix herself.
