At 18: “I don’t do small boys”
Her friends laugh and call it growing age
She swears she won’t settle for her mate
Wants conversations, not playground men.
Wants wine, not soda, not chasing girls.
Wants something serious, not instead.
At 23: “I can’t date my age mate.”
The boys feel loud, the men feel instead.
She tests the weight of older men.
They call her wise beyond her age.
She rolls her eyes at boys her age,
And leaves the room of boys.
At 26: “I like older men.”
No more debates with boys
No more guessing who she is instead.
She wants a partner, not a mate.
She wants a story, not a girl’s
idea of love, but a grown age.
At 30: “Why are you men only after younger girls?”
“Date your mate instead”
The irony sits heavy in this age
She was the girl who skipped the boys
Now she’s the woman asking men
to look at women their age.
We trade the mirror for the mate
Ask the market what it wants instead.
Are we chasing men
Or running from boys?
Who decides the rules of age?
Who decides who gets the girls?
The years keep turning on their age
The question never leaves the men
Why not your mate?
Why always instead?
Why not the boys?
Why always younger girls?
Maybe it’s not boys or men
Maybe it’s age we blame instead
Maybe we all just want a mate.
THE SPOKEN WORD VERSION OF THE POEM
Ladies and gentlemen...
Let me tell you a story.
Not about one woman.
Not about one man.
But about a cycle...
that keeps repeating itself.
At eighteen...
She says,
"I don't do small boys."
Everyone laughs.
"You'll understand when you grow older."
She says she wants conversations,
not playground arguments.
She wants wine,
not soda.
She wants maturity,
not boys still trying to become men.
She says,
"I won't date my age mate."
Fast forward...
Twenty-three.
Now she says it louder.
"I can't date my age mate."
The boys seem noisy.
The older men...
they seem calm.
Experienced.
Established.
She is told,
"You're so mature for your age."
And somehow...
that sounds like a compliment.
So she walks past the boys...
and into the waiting arms of older men.
Then comes twenty-six.
No hesitation now.
"I like older men."
No more debates.
No more explanations.
She wants a partner.
Not just someone to call "boyfriend."
She wants a story.
She wants certainty.
She wants what she believes
only older men can give.
Then...
Thirty.
Something changes.
Now the question sounds different.
"Why are men always chasing younger girls?"
"Why don't they date women their own age?"
Pause...
Isn't that interesting?
Because yesterday...
she skipped the boys
to date older men
Today...
she wonders why those same older men
are skipping women
to date younger girls.
Life has a strange way
of handing us mirrors
when we expected windows.
We ask the market
to change its demand...
without remembering
how we shaped it ourselves.
So tell me...
Are we really chasing men?
Or are we simply running away from boys?
Who wrote these rules?
Who decided
that age equals value?
Who decided
who gets chosen...
and who gets overlooked?
Year after year...
The calendar changes.
The faces change.
But the questions remain.
Why not your age mate?
Why always someone older?
Then later...
Why always someone younger?
Maybe...
just maybe...
it was never about boys.
It was never about men.
Maybe...
it's the stories we tell ourselves
about age.
Maybe...
we've spent so much time chasing
what looks mature...
that we forgot maturity
has no birthday.
Maybe...
we've blamed age...
for what character
was supposed to answer.
And maybe...
deep down...
all of us...
are simply looking for one thing.
Not perfection.
Not status.
Not numbers.
Just...
someone to call...
our mate.
Thank you.
September 26, 2026
