here’s how this works in movies:
in the movies, people like him are the love interest, the popular jock, the gorgeous athlete. can i get an eye roll for the cliche? as if someone can be defined by a single interest.
in the movies, she would be the main character. pretty, smart, straight a student, little miss perfect. ladies & gentlemen, can i get a barfing sound for stereotypes? as if even the people who seem like they have their lives completely together don’t have problems of their own.
in movies, i would be a side character. bad girl, femme fetale, here comes trouble baby. i swear, i drink, i wear chokers & talk sex. the whole school thinks of me as a slut. can i get an impatient sigh for the lack of feminism? because why can boys rack up body counts & it makes them cooler, but if a girl kisses more than one person, she’s a whore.
in movies, the popular jock & miss perfect end up together— he ignores my shot at him, she wins his heart. happily ever after & all that.
well darling, this isn’t a movie.
this is my life, & i get to choose how this story goes.
& in this story, he wants a girl who does a little less talking. in this story, he doesn’t care about the warnings, he doesn’t care about my body count. in this story, he likes fierce eyeliner & leather, & he likes me.
in this story, he wants a bad girl, & i want him.
because fuck the standards. fuck the stupid stereotypes that culture shoved down our throats. fuck all of it.
you like who you like. you kiss who you want to kiss. the whole school is talking, baby, the whole school is wondering what a boy like you is doing with a girl like me. but the whole school doesn’t know about last summer, the whole school doesn’t know about how i was the first person to see beyond the number on your jersey, the whole school doesn’t know about me taking your hand & pulling you into a bathroom stall.
the whole school doesn’t get it, & they don’t have to.
not as long as i get you.