My faery queen

My faery queen
doesn’t think of me in that way;

stuck in her imaginative web
and burning with desire,

obsessed with her flirting
to all the boys;

she is completely unaware I exist,
the girl with tears rolling, graceful hands;

passionate is pretty, on a cloudy high,
try to live with the pain;

hands in my pockets,
hoodie pulled low

she looks but doesn’t see
the face I see in the mirror;

I don’t know who I am anymore
but when she looks at me I can’t breathe