Prissy and perfect,
bangs falling angular,
movements liquid,
physique divine.
Smells like afternoon
resolutions with pale pink
lipstick, she pursed
and the boys cursed;
she paid them no mind.

    To be with her...
    Heaven on earth!

My mind told me I shouldn't
think these thoughts;
Holly wouldn't be with
me, her marks of success
mucked with my duress -
acting out because
my situation is a
situational shame
while hers sings songs
of serene and beautiful
things, I'd take her down.

  Hypothesize, wondering:
if Holly weren't
in the Hills,
   but
here in the gutter,
eye flutter having
importance if you're
on the corner,
curvaceous motions
meaningless when you've
last seen papa going
   seven years
strong, quiet kid Shane
killing himself outside your
door and the smell of weed
staying in your hair
walking by the degenerates;

would she be like the
rest of us, would she cuss like
us and wouldn't grades matter
not, having sex
in the fire-escape,
echoes of "hoe" in the halls
and no one ever saw her
cry, corner bedroom sighs?

Holly would.
Holly would.
Nothing glamorous about it.

Musings -
  Troubling -    
    If that Holly
    stood here    
    I think I wouldn't
      think twice
    about me and her.

  But her wanting to
  be with me then?

Holly would.
Holly would.
                I'd pass her over one time.

                I'm a passive snob in that way.