The lament of the manic pixie dream girl
When I play with my hair I am cross
Or sometimes simply at a loss
For words or maybe joyful too
I do play with when I'm blue.
Don't do my the violence of trying
To read me like all of my signing
Is easy or simple
Or one dimensional.
I am an enigma, a strange
And irrational range
Of emotional expression
And to read me would be oppression,
Or at least oversimplification
And don't assume I need validation.
You accept me for me
And all my idiosyncrasies.
It may seem like a lot
But for a man, it would not.
I just don't want to be read
Like a book, but like a person instead.
No comments:
Post a Comment