A love letter to my freshman boy:
we are not meant to be a we.
No one really is
at least, for me.
I am not the pretty girl
a boy like you should fall for.
I am destined for gayer things
a picturesque butch lesbian's partner in crime.
Crimes I have been designed to commit
to prove my worth to kids like you.
But holy shit,
my freshman boy.
We compliment each other
in the strangest goddamn ways.
Who would've thought
the queer girl would fall for you?
And I know I confuse the hell out of you
and I know I hardly flirt back.
But goddamn freshman boy,
we are a dream.