He's what you might call offensively attractive
I'm what you might call defensively unattractive
Like an athlete, his effort is obvious and yet inexplicable,
results uncontainable
Like a cut from shaving, my effort is accidental and ordinary,
results embarrassing
He's something carved, sharp and particular, a masterpiece with a garnish
I'm something discarded, sloppy and porous, burnt around the edge of the pan
It is a joy to be swept up in his entrance
It's a relief when I'm not there
He lives in the moments he colors with confidence
I'm still dripping with the stink of childhood mistakes
He's got something good to say
I blink in awkward silences
His arms can hold you, let you know you'll be alright
You don't wanna shake my hand if you can help it
Everyone I know is madly in love with him
And I am too
