magical girls, perfect pigtails
starring in a thousand and one tales
of a “relatable main”, always female
more charming than Scheherazade
drink the kool-aid
follow the charade
of the highly acclaimed
animated escapades
we shriek, we scream, we squeal
over girls so sweet and ideal
helping “damaged” boys to feel
not remembering it’s not real.
lonely writers in their basements
churning mangas out for entertainment
are the culprits for our replacement
of love with blind desire and impatience
what’s the point of such allure
such infiltration of pop culture
when it’s wrong about “amour”
teaching us ideals immature