i'm enamoured with his cruelty,
bold in the laughter at my pain:
he calls me beautiful and i
blush in the knowledge that
this has happened a million times
and i'm just a girl to him.
i'm enamoured with his stares,
watching my breasts heave:
underneath the baggy t-shirt and i
know it's the kind of beauty
that only comes when you
grow up in the city we call ours.
i'm enamoured with the way he looks down,
down on me because i'm smaller:
hair tossed in the wind and i
glance up in the way that'll
catch his attention and i know
that this has happened a million times
in this city of ours but somehow
it seems beautiful.