Stereotypes

I walk straight into stereotypes.
I cannot lift that heavy parcel.
I can’t parallel park too well, either.

I walk straight into stereotypes, for
my smartphone is no more than paperweight to me.
And speaking of weight, was that bread I just ate?
Late night Skype. Tears over my body type.

A literature student. I must hate Shakespeare, and I do.
Sue me. But first, why not have a conversation or two?
I walk straight into stereotypes, ghosts of reflections past.
A curse over my head, I was sleeping when this spell was cast.

I walk straight into stereotypes.
I live in a massive pink tent,
with teddy bears and pillows and a heart with a dent.
When I’m alone, I’m lonely; I want someone to hold me.
Only then do I think of you.

I walk straight into misunderstandings.
My humour is not a place where you want to thrive.
But my volatility is no excuse for you to hide.

I may walk into stereotypes,
but so do you, dear lover.
One thing that I should have done
is judge a book by its cover.