it's all a competition and i am not a champion. i am not that sweet perfection that graces men's dreams; i'm not the girl who walks by in a crowded place and causes no sound but jaw to floor. pretty but not poster. sweet but not sugar. kind but not angel. 20 years come monday and i havent yet been. but i am happy, happy in who i am. yet, confidence wont win a thousand parts of a complex heart.

and i dont want to win hearts, love makes a poor trophy. i dont want to set smiles and eyes and hands pressed together on my mantle. i want the warm and alive kept in it. but the way it all looks to be, a girl these days takes what she can get, frames it, and starts a collection. and always, always sparring for the next picture. living parts of life through developing chemical, through protective plastic, through glass. well i wont put you under glass, boy. i wont join the team. the roster rolls so long. i wont make a medals out of kisses. i wont collect ribbons for conversation. i cant, because i have enough trinkets, i have enough on my wall, in boxes, in my chest. i'll just be here, like always, like me. and if i smile, it's me. if i speak, i mean. if i feel it, i'll keep it. because, baby, this girl needs more than the sound of applause.