Stained

“Dance with me?”
In the end, you refused to
judge me for my sweat-stained pink T-shirt.
I still find it hard to believe you'd
look past my shaking, grass-smeared denim knees.
I assumed you would
turn me down, as if out of embarrassment.
But how could you
be so accepting?
I knew you couldn't
be what everyone said you were.
You really turned out to
be kind of sweet.
I think I believed that you would
be like this.
I knew, deep down, you would.
In a sea of sticky, hot bodies,
all awkward legs and big feet,
we flashed, multi-colored, under the cheap strobe lights.
The school gym's ceiling was strung with crepe paper;
your freckled cheeks were dyed blue, then green, then red.
We stood facing each other, your hazel eyes piercing my brown ones,
with only a small distance between us.

With only a small distance between us,
we stood facing each other, your hazel eyes piercing my brown ones.
Your freckled cheeks were dyed blue, then green, then red;
the school gym's ceiling was strung with crepe paper.
We flashed, multi-colored, under the cheap strobe lights,
all awkward legs and big feet,
in a sea of sticky, hot bodies.
I knew, deep down, you would
be like this.
I think I believed that you would
be kind of sweet.
You really turned out to
be what everyone said you were.
I knew you couldn't
be so accepting.
But how could you
turn me down, as if out of embarrassment?
I assumed you would
look past my shaking, grass-smeared denim knees.
I still find it hard to believe you'd
judge me for my sweat-stained pink T-shirt.
In the end, you refused to
dance with me.