Acting is a form of confession

I want a boy who can wrestle with me & let me win. Who I can talk to about anything. Who laughs at my jokes. A boy who puts my cold hands in his warm hoodie pocket. Who lets me use his sweatshirt for a pillow. who buys me 25 cent rings and sticky hands who says I love you & means it who will kiss me in the rain, in the sunshine, and in the snow who calls unexpectedly at random times who will have many inside jokes with me & remember each one, a boy who n o t I c e s girls haircuts who shows up at my games, slipping in the door, who can tell me his problems & lets me help, who will listen to me talk about the new nail polish I got, who will bring me seashells from the beach, who will let me beat him up when I get angry, who writes love letters to me but doesnt send them, who draws pictures & slips them gently in my locker slot, who saves his genuine, big smiles for me. A boy with deep eyes that can see through faces into depths, who wears baseball hats & lets me wear them too. Who gives me his t-shirt to change into & not expect to get it back, who knows my favorite Color, song, car, vegetable, perfume, & the color of my toothbrush. a boy who will shake my daddys hand & look my mother in the eye, who will call me by my full name, first, middle, & last. a boy who will kiss me and tell me I’m pretty, who will let me cry on him, who will squeeze my hips just right from behind, who surprises me, who compliments my manicure and plays with my hair, who knows when I have a math test or when I fail one. A boy who smells like he just stepped out of the shower, who wears cologne that I can subtly smell when leaning on his shoulder, who tells me I have a nice laugh and a smile that lights up the room. Mainly, I want a boy who is simply mine to hold.