You slide your hand down the slope of her legs

smooth, if she remembered to shave

And catch your fingers in her hair

knotted, because she refuses to straighten it

And your thumb's path across her cheek is broken by the acne you try not to touch

because she doesn't want to remember she has it

But you tell her she's beautiful

And she almost believes you

But then she looks in the mirror and forgets

all the pretty words

because they aren't enough

And though she likes her body, she'll always hate her thighs

And though she knows she could be pretty, she won't believe it until the acne is gone for good

And even then

she'll find something else

to hate about

herself