Air

little bit of free verse about how I feel about the manic pixie dream girl trope

I have lost count

The number of times I’ve been told

How different I am

Like when I cut my hair

I signed up to be

The breath of fresh air

All men look for in their life

They tell me how special, unique I am

Bust a nut when I say,

“Yeah I’d play paintball.”

“Yeah I play video games.”

“I don’t mind sweat at all.”

Variety from the apparent

Perfumed shopping girls

You’re “smothered with”

I’m a breath of fresh air

Nevermind my fashion sense

Comes with a sense of shopping

Or I come with a box of nail polish

Complete with acetone fumes

And I will cry when the guy gets the girl

They see scars and deem themselves my savior

It’s just like the movies, project your dreams onto me

Until the going gets tough, then you get going

Running, ready to go inside

After all that fresh air

And I’m left out in the cold again

Head spinning

Wondering what I did wrong

 

When it was just them

Not getting what the trope

Said they’d get.

The End

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