Fifteen
You don't know your worth. Picture his face plastered, set smothered in glue. Then you will know him? A sneaky glance every Thursday lunchtime over an apple core through a glass. You feel you know him. He's yours. Could you speak? Could you hell! Keep him boxed and fresh until you see The Girlfriend shit. Written September 16th, 2001 © on Sep 16 2001 01:49 AM PST, Louise Bell 0 • 14
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"You don't know your worth...."