Good Girls Don't
The article in Seventeen was a precursor for something. It was spitting in the face of luck.
You never say you're good, because after that you never are.
And then you wonder- do they really like you? Do they really want to be with you?
Or are you just a challenge?
You're expected to be as pure as the driven snow.
Just imagine what your father would think of you now...
You can't even begin to think of what your parents will say when you tell them for the first time.
"We still love you"?
They might say that. But they won't.
You're just a commodity for them.
And she's her.
She's everything they want you to be, and everything they want you to avoid.
They like her because she's smart and polite and sweet.
They don't notice the way her hair falls behind her ear, the way her eyelashes flicker just slightly when she's playing some type of trick.
They don't understand why her lipstick- passion plum, she'd said, although that could have been a lie- is smudged, just a little, and why sometimes she has to retreat to the bathroom for fifteen minutes when they expected her to be around, and they can't find you until she's back.
What would they say if they knew that, in some way, she loves you?
What would they say if they heard that, in every way, you love her?