A stranger.
That’s what she should call him.
She thinks she knows him.
Thinks a pretty face is all there is.
It’s disgusting.

She doesn’t know he only eats red skittles,
And candy that comes with a joke or riddle.
She doesn’t know he’s up early Saturdays,
To watch cartoons and eat cornflakes.
She doesn’t know he plays guitar,
Still wishes on lashes, candles, and shooting stars.
She doesn’t know he waits by the phone,
For a call from a dad who left so long ago.

She is oblivious to the complex young man,
Who hides behind the mask of a pretty face.
And him?
He doesn’t know of the girl who loves him.
Not his body or charms, but him.
A girl who has always been there,
So it’s easy to overlook her.
A best friend.