At first,  
I am every story you’ve ever loved:  
the girl with wild eyes and a crooked smile,  
the glitterbomb dropped into your heavy life.  
I am the Manic Pixie Dream,  
softened and sharpened just right,  
scripted to be the key you didn’t know you lost.  

I love it, too.  
I love playing her.  
I love the way I can become  
everything I thought I couldn't be—  
light, brave, impossible.  
I fall in love with the girl they see,  
the one who spins in the rain,  
who kisses like it’s a dare,  
who never stays still long enough  
for anyone to notice the cracks.

For a while,  
I even forget the weight of myself.  
For a while,  
the mirror throws back someone I almost recognize,  
someone almost worth keeping.

But the days grow teeth.  
The seams split.  
My clinginess stops being "cute,"  
my mess stops being "quirky,"  
my fear starts leaking through the paint.  

Then I remember:
I'm not magic.  
I'm work.  
I'm a maze with no ending.  
I'm a mouthful of needs no one knows how to swallow.

And they start seeing it too.  
The way I flinch when they look too long.  
The way my laugh gets hollow.  
The way I start pleading through my eyes,
"Please, please don't look closer."

I know how this ends.  
The Dream Girl dies the moment she becomes real.  
Nobody writes sequels for the ones who stay.

So I run.  
I tear the script from my hands,  
I rip the costume at the seams.  
I run before they can stop loving the idea of me,  
before they have to face the weight of who I am  
beneath the glitter and noise.

I find a new stage,  
a new pair of arms,  
a new chance to believe in the girl I invented—
if only for a little while longer,
If only to live in someone else's dreams,
If only to forget the weight of waking up.

Found family
When will I find a family?
Those pretty families in books
Where they all settle around the table
Laugh and make jokes
Everyone is so perfect for one another
Why do I have to settle for this?
Why am I stuck with what I was given?
What I was born into?
How is it fair?

It didn't happen overnight
In fact I never thought it would even be a possibility
How could it?
There are so many incredible differences among us
It didn't happen the way people say it will
But it happened, and it happened strong
Somewhere between the four hour a day phone calls
Somewhere between becoming each others emergency contact
Somewhere between screaming the wrong lyrics in the car at each other
Somewhere between laughing so hard about birds, we are in tears
It must have happened some time between crying to each other about the hardships we have to face
I mean it had to have happened somewhere along kissing and holding hands in my parking lot at 2 in the morning
Anyways, what I am trying to say is I have some how found myself irrevocably in love with you

Yellow lines blurring past
in rapid succession like a stream of tracers
wind tearing at hair and shaded eyes
a radiant warmth from the sun huggin' the back of the neck and shoulders
racing to catch up to this wanderer's position
cursing at this lowly traveler for getting the drop on it


You know... if you spoke "sun", I guess.
(Look I know the metaphor kind of got away from me on that one, my bad.)


Regardless, where were we?
(Lines....wind.... sun metaphor.... here we are)
This lone wanderer from the ancient east
where man and land alike were choked with smoke and rusted through
(Yeah, people love that shift from normal to proto-fantastical, hero's journey and all that jazz...)
Seeking outstanding territories
untouched, ******, and new
...
...

(Does proto-fantastical even sound right? I guess that works in the sense that it alludes to some kind of ancient civilization of peoples, taking place in some fantasy realm. That reminds me, I need to check that idea I jotted down when I was at the market so I wouldn't lose the idea if I forgot it. Which I did, so hooray for good habits! ........ Why are they staring at me? OH ****!)

Sorry about that!
Totally my bad, continuing on...

(Where the hell was I?)
...
And the Wanderer enjoyed these lands? The end!

(NAILED IT!!!)

......
......

(Why are they looking at me like that?)

I was once a carefree and playful child
one who watched movies, and as a result  
grew up learning there was a love interest
in every scenario
I saw character development and watched
as the former loser would overcome their own fears
and get the beauty
every **** time.
they gained their confidence, plus
a partner in crime to share their new life with
as they shared a passionate kiss
and rode happily into the sunset

I grew with these false premises in my mind
as I waded carefully through the torrential downpour
of emotions in my angsty adolescence
I wasn’t yet confident enough in myself to imagine
someone by my side to share my suffering
but I thought that one day, I would be
and they would reach out to me
as suddenly as they had on tv

the former loser was never my path to follow.
I am ending my teen years as a different trope
the confident girl who doesn’t need anyone else
she knows her flaws, but loves herself endlessly,
but this is where the storyline fails.
I still walk with my head high,
but I have yet to attract my match
with the personality everyone boasts will be enough
it’s not.

it’s never enough.

it’s time for film to be a little more ******* accurate,
but maybe that’s why we love it so much?
It shares the stories that we may never know,
in a world so full of desire,
yet so devoid of passion for one another.

Cheers to you for seeking your sunset lover.
I’ll be waiting in the club of broken hearts  
when reality shatters your hope
and leaves you to live the same path
as I.

Maybe then it won’t be so lonely.

Dear Manic Pixie Dream Boy,

You’re weird.

You like to dance badly to Michael Jackson. The Beatles are your idols. You’re a miracle worker when it comes to procrastinating projects. You choose to be Murdoc over Nightwing any day. A phone is a necessity you chose to live without. A good-looking leather jacket is among one of the many things you’d want in life. You have a vintage camera collection and your house has ninja swords that no one really uses. You let others borrow your bikes, and are not afraid to punch someone who’s a threat…

… and that’s why I like you.

I like the way you accept my flaws. I like the way your curiosity takes over every inch of space you’re in. I like how it’s so easy to talk to you, no matter how mundane the questions are. I like how you don’t judge my preference for long, critical words. I like how you value opinions a lot, and think them through. I’ve asked for your help too many times to count, and you don’t show any signs of being tired about it. I don’t know if you notice the way your face lights up when you talk about the things you love, because it’s blindingly endearing. It’s precious that you have a checklist of things to do before you die. Each word that comes from your mouth seems so genuine and sincere.

I could go on and on about the little things that make me so enamored with you… but I know I’m not supposed to like you.

Labels are a possessive sign to you, while labels give a sense of stability for me. Your nocturnal ways and my early-bird persona will clash eventually. I like finishing things early, while you wait ’til the last minute. Disney doesn’t exactly mesh well with the Gorillaz. Your stubbornness and mine will be our downfall, despite the numerous petty debates we’ve had so far.

I’m still glad you’re my friend.

I mean, that’s what we are, right? Friends? I mean, friends sit on the curb of the street and listen to how each other’s days went, right? Friends stay up until the late hours of the morning to talk about life through audio calls, right? Friends go to the park in the middle of the night together without their parents knowing, right? Cute nicknames as we wish each other good night is a friend thing, right?

Right. I forgot. Labels are a possessive thing to you.

I’ll try to stop checking Facebook for every chance you’re online. I’ll try to make our talks less about personal things, because I think only my labeled “boyfriend” should know them. Forgive me for trying to keep my distance, because I’m sure that I’ll only fall harder the more I get to know you. You’re probably starting to get weirded out by my strict, depressed lifestyle, anyway.

I hope that one day you’d find The One who would change your life. As much as I’d like that to be me, I know it’ll be someone else.

Signed,

The Snooty Protagonist

she who wanted to be
more
than a pretty face
and soft skin

/

nothing more
than a fading
daydream-
sick