Boys don't like girls like me

Boys don't like girls
With frizzy hair
And red velvet tongues

Boys don't like girls
Who wear heavy boots
And leather jackets a size too big
With pins pushed through the fabric
Declaring their beliefs
Like picket signs

Boys don't like girls
With outie belly buttons

Boys don't like girls
Who shop in the men's section
At thrift stores

Boys don't like girls
Who shut themselves in ivory towers
And refuse to let down their hair
Because they're too afraid

Boys don't like girls
Who talk to plants

Boys don't like girls
Who pick the pickles off
Of their cheeseburger because
They believe its the best part
And you always save the best for last

Boys don't like girls
Who carry trauma on their backs like boulders

Boys don't like girls
Who don't know how to kiss
Without leaving
Blood stains on your lips

Boys don't like girls
Who write love poems for themselves

Who practice archery and witchcraft
Because it makes them feel stronger

Who dance in their kitchen
To the music of popping popcorn

Who shy away from touch
Because to them it feels like acid

Who have stretch marks and cellulite

Who'd rather stay at home with the dog
Than go to that party

Who have ice in their soul

Boys don't like girls like me
And I'm trying to be ok with that

well i don't like YOU
but i kind of like US
yeah, i like us
and i like that sneaky picture my friends took
when you kissed me
and it hurts my stomach when i think of how
i'm not the only girl you kissed that night
which i guess makes me guilty of double standards
'cause even though you were the first of the night
you weren't the last
or the middle one
or the one after that
but yeah, let's say the first one is all that counts
and then we can both be happy
we
us
us
us
us

When you ask of me, why poetry
I'm not sure you understand
That it's the center of my universe
The very depth of who I am

The molecules in the air I breath
Oxygen pulsing through the veins
The storm brewing beneath the surface
The pounding of the rain

It's the timeless anticipation
Of the thought that's yet to come
The tearing open of life's seam
The beating of the drum

The first peak of the desert flower
When it feels the gentle touch of spring
The smile in the eyes of a child
And all the joy it brings

The in and out of the tide
In the pulling of the waves
When you ask of me, why poetry
What more is there to say

The light, the fire, is beautiful,
But it is painful. More painful the day after, when
Skin mends and tried to heal, but you keep going.
Touching, burning.

I never wanted to be in pain.
I never wanted to feel the sting of the flame
Or the numbness of a scratch mark.
Or the pinch of the blade.yet it is so seductive. Addicting.
I am addicted to pain. It gets me going,
Releases every demon I have into the world.

And then I miss them, conjure them back into me.
And I repeat the process.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
...No

No.