A Poem on Pretty Girls

Layla Peets

Pretty, pretty girls. Come see pretty girls.

Watch us dress, smile and pose.

You can see us whenever and wherever.

You can see us even when we can’t see you.

Girls love that. Real girls love that.

Tell me I’m real.

 

Pretty, pretty girls. Gorgeous, gorgeous girls.

Watch us preen ourselves like beautiful peacocks.

But peacocks are loud and annoying. It’s best when they’re quiet don’t you think?

I’ll be quiet. I’m not like them. I’ll stay quiet, stay beautiful.

Stay Pristeen.

 

Pretty, pretty girls. I’ll be a pretty girl.

Pretty, but not too pretty. Short, but not too short.

I’ll mold to any form you like. Morning day or night,

I’ll always stay just right.

Tell me I’m perfect to tear me down.

I’ll be your building blocks you build up, to tear down.

I belong to you.

 

Pretty, pretty girls. Tell me that I’m one.

I crave your approval and desire.

Tell me that I’m easy on the eyes, gorgeous, fine,

Pretty.

 

Pretty, pretty girls. This one’s just for you.

Let my I’s turn to I need you’s .

Let the skin on my body stay perfect, innocent, smooth.

Let my heels stay high.

Let my skirts stay short.

Let my hands stay soft.

Let my mind remain blank.

 

Except for one thing.

One thing I’ve been told to acheive.

One thing I gave everything to be.

The only thing that matters to me.

Being pretty.