https://images.hive.blog/DQmWxmSYfExhYPtoYuntCdeXrDRdb61QCPa3sFK9DBhCR4Q/woman-1866858_1280.jpg
[Pixabay](https://pixabay.com/photos/search/attractive/)
She enters like she owns the place,
with her heels clicking in a steady beat,
light shining just right on her hair.
People look around, mumbling and gazing as if she has the solution to a question
they didn’t even realize they were asking.
Still, I stay calm.
a grin in the middle of a tranquil storm,
watching everything happen.
She is undeniably lovely.
But I think I’m cuter than she is.
Cuteness exists in the spontaneous—
in the laughter I can’t hold back,
how my eyes tell stories
before I even say a word.
It’s found in my oddities,
the bounce in my walk,
the warmth I leave in my wake.
She’s the star of the show.
They reread the article because of my presence.
She is the perfect image, polished and graceful.
But I feel that
I will be the one remembered
when the place is quiet.
Let her have the spotlight.
let them admire her glow.
I’ll keep my charm.
My magic, my wildness.
Because no matter how beautifully she shines,
deep down, they all know
she isn’t nearly as cute as I am.