I want a boyfriend

I want a boyfriend and by that I mean I want a self. 

I want the bronze statues of men to animate and find me, choose me and swoop me up. Placing me in a home, in their drivers seat, on their phone. 

When you’d look at me with a man you’d see a girl completed. I’d be a girl with a boy next to but slightly in front of her. I’d be standing still, like a statue with the rust rubbed off my breast.

Standing alone as a girl is to stand with only what I have. That’s never been enough. To be a girl with a boy is to be seen. It is to have gazes turn soft. 

I am routinely filled with the frustration of my womanhood. The things that the lense of woman make me see in the world. It’d be easier in the grasp of a man where my contemplations are not needed and if they were to be shared they’d just be seen as the adorable quirks of my mind. 

Within my female subjection there is a possible oasis. If I conform well I’ll get my very own man. One that will take me and hush me personally. All because I am his. 

I have always considered myself to be a girl with fire. I couldn’t be silenced or tamed. That made me special and unique. Though now I am seeing that fire sends a signal to other people that I am something to be put out. Being with a man means I go from being a wildfire to a scented candle. My passion less intriguing but also less threatening. 

With my man all I’d become is who has chosen me. It would be hell but also peaceful. In the simplicity of the title of girlfriend I could finally become something digestible and not poisonous.