I want boys,

ones who will touch me,

hold me like the quirky but cute ideal

indie flicks and young adult fiction writers

told them is the kind of girl

they should love.

 

I want boys,

ones who will stare at me,

tell me I am as beautiful as the setting sun,

and how much they want to kiss me right now

but only because to do so would

be very wrong.

 

I want boys,

ones who will leave me,

realize I am not the manic pixie dream girl

not the symbol for love and youth and life

they thought I was and cannot be loved

only in the dark.

 

I want boys

to understand that no girl can live up

to the image they have in their head.

The one of glitter and sunshine and perfume and soft skin

sweaters with animals on them

innocent eyes that speak of everything but nothing at once.

I've tried.

 

I want boys,

despite their sweat and bad skin and inability to text properly

despite their willful ignorance and horrible taste and

their excuses that speak of years

of being told they don't have to change

the way they dress

or the color shape size texture of their hair skin eyes lips.

 

I want boys

because a lifetime of romantic comedies

and great novels about wandering men whose lives are

forever altered

by a woman whom they

meet

love

lose

has taught me that the only goal

I should want to accomplish

is not to find fulfillment through friendship

or even through making a good home

but to be the woman

who enacts the change

who influences how the great artist

creates art

but doesn't survive long enough

to see the art she inspires.

 

I want boys,

so I grow out my hair

flick my eyeliner out

and watch tens

of hundreds

of thousands

of makeup tutorials on Youtube

so I can perfect the best way

to put stuff on my face

without it looking like

there is stuff on my face.

 

I learn how to walk in heels

so I can turn their heads

with the sway of my hips

blow a kiss

from my blood red lips

become the siren

the alluring temptation they all

wanted me to be.

But instead of luring them

to their demise,

I've sunk my own ship.

 

I thought this was

what you wanted.

 

But still the boys left me

realized I am not the girl

every book movie TV show has told them

is the one

they want;

realized I am not the girl

who is easy to know

easy to forgive

easy to love.

 

I want boys,

but instead I ignored

the impulse of my hormones and my survival instincts,

forgot I ever wanted needed craved the approval

but kept the armor.

I wield my lipstick and my eyelash curler

like weapons of mass destruction,

don't come too close

or I will hurt you

leave you in a nuclear wasteland

without a gas mask

or clean water

or WiFi.

But keep you alive.

 

I can still want boys

can still want them to pay for my food

and kiss me.

When he leaves,

put on Beyonce

and put on your makeup.

This

is how you survive.

 

So I call my fellow girls

my fellow women

to take up the fight.

Join the dark side.

We have cake,

and I swear it's not a lie.