Who the hell am I anyway?
This girl who smiles like she's in love.
I used to spit on love. I used to tell lovers to get a room.

I'd paint my nails midnight blue
and order purple contacts for my eyes,
just so others could say I'm weird.

The beasts would sniff me, ask for my number
and I'd look at their eyes first.

Did they make good eye contact? Was I afraid
of their eyes? Were they soft, or hard?
These are important questions to ask yourself
when love is looming in the air.

Love does not have hard eyes,
or a sharp tongue.

Now I'm eating cotton candy, licking my fingers
smiling at a boy I love.
He pinched my ass and winked a story to me
last time we touched. He whispered something in my ear
that I hear all day long,
like a broken record I don't want to fix.

This boston babe
is about to explode in pink
all over the place
for a Boston boy who likes to drink black coffee
and eat cheese danishes
every Thursday morning
at my favorite corner shop.

My eyes are back to being brown
the color of his coffee
when I accidentally spill
a perfect dollop of whipped cream into his mug,
shaped like a heart,
as I walk by his table.

Jena Crowe

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/is-it-normal-to-smile-more-than-5x-a-day/