forgettable. boring. and plain. 

I wiped a tear away from your faceand although it settled in the darkest spot just below your bottom lashes

my thumb was surprised by the chill. 
And when I asked you what the matter was, you sat in my creaky rocking chair and said: 

“I am forgettable 

I am boring

I am plain.” 

And I laughed because I thought it sweet 

that a girl, who is so many, many things 

Everything but 



and plain 

could find no quality within herself worth redeeming.

I quite like to see you cry 

because so many people choose to hide their weaknesses 

but you embrace yours like several long lost loves

always accepting and never afraid 

And when you bear all your nakedness before me

your soul so brittle it could snap at any moment 

and you share with me your troubles 

I cannot think of anyone more queer

I could kneel beside you and watch you exhaust all of your tears 

until there’s no pain left inside of you to be freed.

Your colorless face finally turns to me, vacantly,

waiting approvingly. 

But what can I do to show you 

that you are everything but 



and plain

aside from greatly assuring you that you are not?

I take your dampened hands in mine

and thank you 

not only for the coldness of your old tears 

nor the flush of your skin

nor the wetness of your hands 

Thank you for letting me see everything

and for being everything but 



and plain.

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