It's in the little things

My love for him is as pure and naive as a
little girl's undying devotion to her teddy bear
  (Mr. fuzzball holds his permanent place
   as guardian of my bookshelf and my suitcases
   if I ever travel)

His love for me is as sick and cruel as a
little boy's need to wreck his own toy cars
  (He makes sure to tear apart every woman
   that falls for his charms
   before promptly tossing her aside)

I am a little girl reaching out
to the bluebird that skips across my windowpane
not because I want to cage him but only because
  I want to know what it feels like to touch freedom and sail the skies
  to come just that little bit closer to the moon and the sun

I am a little girl reaching out
to the helium-filled balloon being windblown farther away
and as I keep chasing to no avail I carelessly climb a tree and scrape my knee
  Still, that ruby red balloon escapes me
  and I am left bruised and sore as I watch it soar far beyond my grasp

In the biased society we live in,
males will always be liberated bluebirds
  failing to realize their own blessing of having functional wings
In the unadulterated mind I live in,
you will always be that bright balloon
  easily abandoning me for reasons as invisible as the winds