Beauty is a bastard

she asked,
am i pretty.
i had no response,
because really,
like the saying goes,
beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
and if that is true,
regardless of the majority,
what i have to say is neither
right nor wrong.
i know that whatever i say,
i’ll be called a bastard.
for the most part,
it’s true, for the exception that
my mother was married before
i was conceived.

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Look Up

Her shoes are black. Flat. Uncomfortable looking. Cheap.

“Why don’t you ever look at me when we talk?”

I must admit, she has an admirable bosom, but I’m caught gazing at her feet. It’s hard to look people in the eyes. I must admit, I’m scared to look up.

“It seems like all you ever do is stare at my feet?”

I don’t know why waste money of a bunch of poor shoes when you can take that money, and make one purchase when needed. I figure it’s just a better spending of money.

“What is it this time?”

I understand buying shoes to go with different outfits, but why not just get one that works with them all? Is it the thrill of the hunt, the social aspect, or the ideal of something personal?

“Hello there, are you even listening?”

Hmm, I wonder how many more shoes she has? Or better yet, when I get the courage to just look her in the eye and tell her,

“I don’t think you need anymore shoes. Your feet don’t care.”