You only want me when I'm "different."

You don't like me when I like pop music,

or when I tell you that I've read a romance.

You only like me when I go on and on for hours

about Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge,

you get bored of me when I tell you something about a romcom.

You're intrigued when I start to speak

about Dickens and Alcott,

but you wish I'd shut up

when I start to talk

about some actor I like.

You only want half of me,

the restless writer,

the classics reader.

You don't want the teenage girl

who's invested in pop culture.

But the "basic" girl's the one

who fell for you,

who wrote your name alongside hers in her notebooks.