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Vulnerable

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I have no love life.
That’s what my friends say.
Do they know the boys that have asked me out?
Do they know the boyfriend I had in fourth grade?
No. They don’t.
I don’t even think they know about any of these boys.
My real love life is small.
My fake love life is huge.
Books are my fake love life.
They fill my head with characters:
The stars of my next romance.
I sit here thinking about them.
I think about what it would be like if they were real.
My friends don’t know how I think.
No one does.
Except for God.
I have a huge imagination.
There’s no stopping it.
My imagination is working day and night.
While I’m reading,
While I’m working.
While I’m playing.
While I’m doing nothing.
I think about these boys,
The ones from the books I read.
I think of what it would be like if they were my boyfriend.
What would my friends think?
Would they like him?
Would they hate him?
I can’t think straight sometimes.
I don’t have a normal mind.
I’m starting to understand myself now.
My imagination runs wild,
But I need this imagination for my stories.
My imagination is like an out-of-control train:
I can’t stop it.
And then I wake up from sleep.
I wake up from the dream I never had.
I have a huge imagination…
…but I don’t dream.
My imagination puts me into my books,
Along with the characters and my “boyfriend”.
I come up with a story that veers off of the book,
It goes crazy and wild.
I try to stop it,
But it never works.
My imagination doesn’t take orders.
My love life:
A total of one actual boyfriend.
And a handful of boys to ask me out.
Maybe they’re right.
Maybe I don’t really have a love life.
I can pretend,
But it’ll never be true.
I’m not good at talking to boys,
Unless I’ve known them for a long time.
One boy told me I make things awkward,
And then he later asked me to dance.
I refused.
He had asked me out once,
I had said yes,
And then nothing happened.
Well, what was I supposed to do?
I’m not good at talking to boys.
Was I supposed to go up and slap him when I found out he was dating another girl?
No.
I’m not that kind of girl.
I’m not aggressive.
I’m not mean.
I don’t get everything I want by throwing a fit.
I’m just me:
The vulnerable girl that everyone picks on.
I want to be strong,
Like all my other friends.
But it seems I don’t have that power.
Maybe later in life I’ll be that way.
But not now.
With my fake love life,
And my vulnerability,
I hide away.
People say I’m anti-social,
But I just don’t want to do some things.
I don’t want to go to some things.
Dances: boring!
I don’t really dance,
And there’s nothing really to do except hang out,
Dance,
And eat the junk food they make us buy.
And then there’s that friend that needs to borrow money for a snack.
Anti-social?
Me?
Sure!
I don’t like to be called that,
But I guess it just stays in some peoples’ heads.
So I’m apparently anti-social,
Vulnerable,
And I have no love life.
Thanks for ruining my dreams.
For ruining my life.
How do I undo all of this?
Is there a way?
If there is…
…please help me.





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