Brown

<sub>There is a part of me that hates her;
the way she walks, talks, does her hair,
even the way that her nose is the same size as mine
and she pulls it off so much better.
There is a small part of me, also,
that longs to be her-
rich, privileged, confident and
beautiful in ways that I will never be,
no matter how much plastic surgery-
which I can't imagine ever being able to afford-
I might receive.
There is something alluring in the way
that she knows she is materialistic and
simply doesn't care.
"After about six months in the US," she says,
"I have to leave the country or else
I'll explode of boredom."
I smile and nod, thinking about [never] saying,
"That's why your eyes are so brown."



In case you've never heard it- "You're so full of poo, you're eyes are turning brown."</sub>