Slow down, performative boy, breathe

Your lack of personality disgusts me. But I can’t blame you.

After all, you didn’t build this all on your own.

You were different from the rest, an innocent boy who has never done anything wrong, and you used that to your advantage.

But now you’re stuck, because that’s the only you she’ll accept.

To appeal to your audience is one thing, and to fundamentally change who you potray yourself as is another.

Are you batman, or are you just a man? The same man who’d kill us on the street, just repackaged.

When you tell her your interests, are you hoping she’ll fawn?

When you tell her your thoughts, are you hoping she’ll embrace you?

We both know that being yourself was never going to be enough.

Much like all the other kinds of men I hate, I wish to hate you too. But I cannot.

You are sad and alone and desperate to make this work.

So you say all the right things. You comment on her eyes, her hair, her music taste.

You have been plagued with the same fate as me.

This never ending chase of validation, just so you can be loved.

I—a teenage girl—expected to change everything about myself so I’m desirable.

You—a teenage boy—quick to ask her if she loves you because you don’t know if anyone ever will.

Maybe patience would do us both some good.