I’m not your average damsel decorated in jewels and porcelain skin.
I can’t imagine wasting my earnings on something as preposterous
as my nails.
I don’t need you to open every door.
I’m quite capable of doing that myself.
And I think it’s really awkward when I have to wait in the passenger’s seat
while you scurry to my side.
You can be a gentleman without treating me like a child,
and I honestly find tasteful sarcasm a bit more attractive.
Maybe I’m just not used to this,
or maybe I’ve shut the idea out,
but I’m pretty sure I’m just not high maintenance,
nor do I want to spend my evenings making polite conversation
and avoiding long silence.
I just can’t help it if your touch doesn’t send electricity through my veins,
Or if my heart doesn’t beat faster when your eyes catch mine,
Or if the thought of your kiss doesn’t form a lump in my throat.
I’m sorry,
but give me fireworks.
I’m not playing safe.
I’m not really playing at all.
I want adventure.