Everywhere she walks,
she wrings her hands.
The expresion she wears,
is one of complicated confusion.

Near people
a smile is plastered,
of fake joy and content,
for no one can know.

They won’t help things,
because they don’t understand.
They can’t control this,
because they may not like it.

Whoever thought that
being liked by boys
was a good thing
was wrong.

More choices
only means
someone gets hurt
and she does not want that.

How can she decide between
old and new?
comfortable and unknown?
love and crush?

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