THIS BOY IN MY DM SAYS I’M PRETTY…

This man says I look really nice in my pink glasses. I think they border mauve, depending on your proximity when observing them. He says wearing small shoes, and having tiny feet are both incredibly cute.

He says I’m pretty.
He’s different, so very different. He is a knight.

Most boys tell you you’re gorgeous in the PM, when the loneliness triggered by darkness strikes, but he starts the day right in the AM by serving affirmations in the DM. When he calls, I blush pink, as the stars blush a speckled yellow. It might be in my head but, the stars do twinkle a dappled yellow when he calls.

He thinks scars are beautiful, Wabi Sabi. It’s like he sets up a home among the ruins in the heart. He says the broken pieces are unique, like art. He says they didn’t break carelessly; they broke beautifully. I guess that’s why he steals glances because all the individual pieces are not fathomable at once; he gotta take it in one at a time.

This boy in my DM says I’m pretty. Except, there is no boy in the DM. That’s just how I feel every time I listen to Tank and the Bangas. She is fluid; poetic. Her pieces are what I’d imagine sitting by the fireside feels like. Sitting on the fireside when its stormy outside. When it’s stormy outside and the only thing separating from that fierce, yet calming downpour is a glass wall. When the rain licks the glass desiring to devour and drown you, but there is no way in, because you’re safe inside. That’s Tank. Her pieces are what I would envision safety to feel like. There is no boy saying I’m pretty, and maybe, just maybe, I want nothing short of the guy that tells her she is pretty. Because, if he makes the stars in her heart blush, imagine what he does to the galaxy in her head…

Tank and the Bangas