Why doesn't she love me? Is it my distorted face...my weedy, withered body...the fungus that crawls across my legs, eating away at my shrivled skin...the way my shaggy hair flows recklessly in the wind? Why doesn't she love me? Is it my lack of charm...the way I kill every joke that comes across my path...the way a room grows cold when I enter...my hollow, lifeless personality...that shackles that hold me down from having a social life with people like her? Why doesn't she love me? Why didn't she notice when I tried to get her attention...I left that note in her locker...did I forget my name? Is the writer still a mystery to her...or does she know, and not pursue? Why doesn't she love me? The way her friends ask every boy in school to their parties, while I beg in silence for her to even nod at my existance...a "hello" would be nice...a "hey," maybe a "how's it going"...doesn't my insignificance make her notice me? Why doesn't she love me? Is it my distorted face...