The problem isn't us
The problem is what we're told,
What we're shown.
Because in the movies,
It's a look up, down, up again
And then a kiss
With fingers in hair
Or on trembling jawlines.
But you must not know that
Because you've got the fingers in my hair
But you're far too rough.

And in the books,
The boys talk sweetly
They declare their love
In abysmal rainstorms
They let girls wear their clothes
And they think about us
The way we think about them.
But you must not know that
Because you reply to all of my poems
With “Lol wut?”
And I see you sometimes
With other girls
And I wonder if they sense
That it's not quite right
When they're being pushed
Against brick walls
And then leaving these dark places
With chapped lips and bruised hips.

I wonder if I'm the only one
Holding you to high expectations
But I know I'm the only one
Smart enough to continue looking
For the right kind of love.