(something a friend said, transposed)

somebody's girl


almost laughed when I saw her but it depressed the hell out of me if you want to know the truth.

she was pastel-pretty wearing a floaty kind of pale blue skirt twisting silky flowers on it and one of those tops with the straps, darker blue, and her shoulders just white

in the sun, something that sparkled 'round her neck (swan white long and elegant)

and her eyes were so blue


she was smiling, head tilted, listening to something her friend was saying and she looked so pretty I almost


lips parted slightly, red, a smile that would kill me, really it would

and the funny part was that even though he wasn't there you knew about him just looking at her

or at least, I did, and that was why I thought I might be about to cry because

she was so pretty, ivory almost perfection


and I hated thinking of him talking over her, placing that possessive hand on her shoulder, hated thinking what bruises she might have

because I did know, just looking at her

maybe the wilt of her white white shoulders the dead blank of her blue blue eyes maybe that slight slight downcurve in the bitter slanting slash of red

I wanted to ask her who she wakes up for every morning

who she paints herself so china-doll-pretty for

Is he worth it?

and doesn't she ever want to be more

than somebody's girl