She smiles
She's had enough practice
Hiding the seething volcanic anger within her
Over and over
Always the same
The pain
The hurt
The fear
“Why is it never me?”
She can never say no
Hopes to catch the bouquet
Deep within she quivers
What's wrong with me?
Am I that ugly?
Do I smell?
Am I a horrible person?
She wants to cry
She wants to punch that grin off the face of the next person who says, “It'll be your turn next”
But she'll keep up the show as she resists the urge to run
Her social circle dwindles as each friend says “I do”
And despite all her efforts
Her left eye twitches ever so slightly
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