An Open Letter about Heart-shaped Piñatas and Plastic Swords

I am a boy. I rarely smoke, but when I do, my lungs prefer flip tops than soft packs; lights rather than reds or menthol. I don’t mind the brand, as long as it’s not wet and can catch my drift. I drink sometimes, throw me a glass of rum, a shot of vodka, or a salt-tequila-lime combo, but please never offer gin; it makes me want to throw up. I read fairytales, but that was when I was 4 feet smaller.

I prefer ‘grown-up’ things now. I would rather read magazines with women half-naked posing for masculine delight, than fall asleep over a cup of coffee and poems by Pablo Neruda.

I am a boy. A fairytale is a place I’d rather not be in. I think it’s too cute for a boy, like me. I don’t like fairytales because fairytales say that boys should grow up and become knights. I don’t want to be a knight, what if I’d rather stay as a boy and play with plastic swords while wearing playground shoes? Instead of knight’s clothing that’s heavy, smelly and obviously out of style. I don’t want to embark on a journey to fulfill a quest that I can live without doing anyway. I’d rather stay home and tend to the cows and sheep, or play Black Ops in my 360, instead of galloping halfway the globe just to find a dragon to slay with my heavy sword. Dragons aren’t real, and besides, people dig me better when I pwn them with my camping skills and sniper rifle.

I am a boy, and will probably soon find my princess; a damsel in distress on top of an ivory tower.  I won’t promise anything. I won’t promise that I’ll be that knight in shining armour for you, or that dashing debonair that will sweep you off your feet, nor will I be that writer adept at romantic clichés, like Nicholas Sparks, I wish I could but I can’t, and I’d rather not do that. I have more than enough problems without you adding along. I can’t solve your complaints about your unmanageable hair, your period, your friends or your uneven skin tan. But I promise to listen to it with the same gusto when I listen to 30 Seconds to Mars.

I am a boy and I like you the way you are. I am not perfect – and so are you – but I’ll always try


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