This is intended to be written from the POV of a teenage boy. I actually really love it. :D It's short compared to most of the pieces I write; I was debating on adding another stanza, but in the end, I decided to stick with this.
Her smiles are bonfires,
shimmering and glimmering
when the wind kisses them.
Even when her flames die down,
embers still laugh beneath her surface,
waiting to explode into sparks.
My smiles are desk lamps,
casting pale fluorescent light,
singeing the eyes of those who stare.
When they're switched off,
they are cold and heartless and dead.
Desk lamps don't have coals.