Not a Hottie

I'm not a hottie. My family says I'm a "handsome boy" and my friends say I'm a cutie, but I'm not a hottie.

A hottie has the witty remark, the idea to add, the beloved quirk. I am a dullard, I'm slow to the mark, and I can count on one hand the number of good comebacks I've given.

A hottie is confident, he can jump into a dance circle and pluck the boy of his choosing out of a crowd. I'm shy and stick to dancing with my lesbian friends. Oh I'll eye people I want to dance with, even people who look as lonely as me, but I'll be too shy, afraid of rejection.

A hottie is sure in their friends. I worry that they're looking for the slightest excuse to jump ship.

A hottie knows everyone will be undressing him in their eyes, that he'll be part of every boy's fantasy. I don't even think of myself in my fantasies. I always pretend I'm someone else.

The hottie has an uplifting ending. I can only apologize for being a downer.