Growing up, I used to have this image.
An image society placed in my mind,
which grew to consume my entire perception
of what a woman should be.
She was taller,
and She had bigger curves.
She had long, glossy brown-black hair
and big, blue eyes.
And She could flirt.
She was confident that she was attractive.
She did whatever She wanted with whomever She wished,
and She didn’t give a damn.
All the boys liked her.
And She was loud.
She was not quiet at all.
In fact, She was extremely extroverted.
She walked into a room, and She laughed and smiled,
and She was funny.
and She wasn’t smart–oh no!–
She didn’t think about things too much.
She was always silly and fun and carefree.
And She never had any problems.
And She never shed any tears.
And everyone loved her.
And I loved her,
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