rainy days

Every day is a rainy day. Golden orange leaves sticking to my best friend wind shield- adhered firmly with crystal raindrops that don’t seem to be able to stop falling all over this quiet fall suburbia. At first those rain clouds were comforting, shielding a sun that hurt my eyes and reminded me of summer days in the front seat of your car. Now I am willing them away because the bottoms of my favorite jeans are soaked and my moccasins are slippery on the cold tile floors of my high school. Because my hair is frizzy and the hood on my new red jacket isn’t big enough to cover this blonde mess on my head. Because the only songs I like to listen to when it rains are the slow ones that make me think of you and everyone knows I grew sick of that long ago. I’m tired of talking about you. I could say that I have moved on but here I am blogging again and you seem to be the center of my poetry. You seem to make my fingers fly across the keyboard.
No, I am not jealous of that brunette sophomore kissing you at the Bengals game. I’m sure she is a lovely girl but those circles under her eyes scream of sleepless nights and I wonder how long she will stay innocent with a boy like you in her world. You took a picture of her pressing her lips to your cheek while you scrunched up that freckled face and tried to look like a hard ass. I took a picture like that. Exactly the same- that kiss, that angle, that face. You’re living through cheap imitations of our summer and I’m sorry she can’t edit pictures like I can. Maybe then it would look like you were actually happy. And yes this sounds bitter but the truth is… I have every RIGHT to let the phone ring when you call. I have every right to deny your friend requests on facebook and delete your ridiculous texts. I have every right to shut you out of my life and if I had a little bit more of a bitch in my blood I would have done it long ago. I should have done it long ago. So don’t whine to your friends when I hang up on you and don’t return your messages. They are meeting up with me at Krogers to watch the OC and listen to Sean Kingston in the car before they party the night away with you anyways. The truth hurts, doesn’t it? I forgive you. I wish you happiness. But I have been a dumb blonde for much too long.
I am pale again. My tan faded away when my gym membership expired and I realized I would rather be an Audrey Hepburn than a Paris Hilton. I was born with this porcelain shade so I suppose there is beauty in it somewhere,
but damn Barbie for having such bronzed plastic skin. I yearn for the smell of a tanning bed again and the shade of my eyes when my face is brown. I will accept my beauty. I will love my body even when I shove my face with caramel apples and too much candy corn and hot banana nut bread. I will worship the mirror even when I feel far less that beautiful, because if I don’t believe it- nobody will.