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.