Ketchup Chips

I don’t like ketchup chips,
they’re yucky
and sour.
I like original chips
because they’re salty, like fries.
I also like that
small Filipino boy
with curly hair.
I think I want
to have sex with him,
but I can’t say that
because seven-year-olds
aren’t supposed to
think about sex,
right?
Even though I know
more about penises and
vaginas than seventh-graders,
I’m supposed to only play
with Barbies and dressing-up
clothes, instead of my clitoris
or science books, right?
I don’t really like
bowling, but when your little
friends invite you to
go for a birthday
party, you’re supposed
to go,
right?
And for birthday parties,
you’re supposed to buy
presents, that much I know.
For Christmas, I got
a book
about all kinds of sciences,
but for my friend I bought
a stuffed teddy bear
because that’s what
little girls are supposed
to like.
At the start of the party,
I was late and everyone
was already there.
“What kind of chips
would you like?”
I wrote down,
“ketchup chips”,
because everyone else
had wanted ketchup chips,
and that’s what
I was supposed to like,
right?