"I like your shirt"

And she thanked the girl flippantly

As if she'd heard simple admirations

Far too many times to feel flattered anymore.

Everyone's misanthropic sweetheart.

Burning houses in her honor

Wouldn't hold her attention for longer than a "thanks"

She pulls at the red locks hanging at her cheekbones

And finds a painted flaw

Fishing for more unwelcome compliments.

"I like your shoes. They're cute."

She bats a lash and turns up her nose

And she thanked the girl flippantly.

She might as well flip her hair

And proudly utter "I know"

At least then, her words wouldn't be so empty.