I used to want poems, roses and someone
to profess their undying love for me on Valentine's day,
because I thought that was the very definition
of romance.
Some grand gesture
to sweep me off of my feet right towards the sunset,
but that's stupid, isn't it?
**** one sided affection from people who admire me from afar,
but have never once tried to speak to me
before this "holiday of love".
***** those who fell in love with their idea,
society's projection of me
rather than actually falling in love with me.
Because that isn't what love is.
I'm not some perfect girl with a sweet smile
who says hello to you in the hallways,
who will marry you and be home in time for dinner, always.
I was blessed with beauty, passion, rage
and sometimes even a little promiscuity.
You admire from a distance the sugary girl you meet,
but have no clue of the ***** in the sheets.
That's okay,
those parts of my personality are by no means meant
for everyone to know,
I doubt you would love me twice as much
if you were lucky enough to get to know twice as much about me.
None of this is romantic, no part of it is loving.
Come to me with a silly joke
and an offer of a good time,
forget everlasting love and growing up too fast.
There is a reason everyone is so reminiscent of their youth.