“What if all women were bigger and stronger than you? And thought they were smarter? What if women were the ones who started wars? What if too many of your friends had been raped by women wielding giant dildos and no K-Y Jelly? What if the state trooper who pulled you over on the New Jersey Turnpike was a woman and carried a gun? What if the ability to menstruate was the prerequisite for most high-paying jobs? What if your attractiveness to women depended on the size of your penis? What if every time women saw you they’d hoot and make jerking motions with their hands? What if women were always making jokes about how ugly penises are and how bad sperm tastes? What if you had to explain what’s wrong with your car to big sweaty women with greasy hands who stared at your crotch in a garage where you are surrounded by posters of naked men with hard-ons? What if men’s magazines featured cover photos of 14-year-old boys with socks tucked into the front of their jeans and articles like: “How to tell if your wife is unfaithful” or “What your doctor won’t tell you about your prostate” or “The truth about impotence”? What if the doctor who examined your prostate was a woman and called you “Honey”? What if you had to inhale your boss’ stale cigar breath as she insisted that sleeping with her was part of the job? What if you couldn’t get away because the company dress code required you wear shoes designed to keep you from running? And what if after all that women still wanted you to love them?”
know girls who are trying to fit into the social norm like squeezing into last year’s prom dress i know girls who are low rise, mac eyeshadow, and binge drinking i know girls that wonder if they’re disaster and sexy enough to fit in i know girls who are fleeing bombs from the mosques of their skin playing russian roulette with death; it’s never easy to accept that our bodies are fallible and flawed but when do we draw the line? when the knife hits the skin? isn’t it the same thing as purging, because we’re so obsessed with death, some women just have more guts than others the funny thing is women like us don’t shoot we swallow pills, still wanting to be beautiful at the morgue, still proceeding to put on make-up, still hoping that the mortician finds us fuckable and attractive we might as well be buried with our shoes, and handbags and scarves, girls we flirt with death everytime we etch a new tally mark into our skin i know how to split my wrists like a battlefield too but the time has come for us to reclaim our bodies our bodies deserve more than to be war-torn and collateral, offering this fuckdom as a pathetic means to say, “i only know how to exist when i’m wanted” girls like us are hardly ever wanted you know we’re used up and sad and drunk and perpetually waiting by the phone for someone to pick up and tell us that we did good You did good. ( i know i am because i said am, my body is home) so try this take your hands over your bumpy lovebody naked and remember the first time you touched someone with the sole purpose of learning all of them touched them because the light was pretty on them and the dust in the sunlight danced the way your heart did touch yourself with a purpose your body is the most beautiful royal fathers and uncles are not claiming your knife anymore are not your razor, no put the sharpness back lay your hands flat and feel the surface of scarred skin i once touched a tree with charred limbs the stump was still breathing but the tops were just ashy remains, i wonder what it’s like to come back from that sometimes i feel a forest fire erupting from my wrists and the smoke signals sent out are the most beautiful things i’ve ever seen love your body the way your mother loved your baby feet and brother, arm wrapping shoulders, and remember, this is important: you are worth more than who you fuck you are worth more than a waistline you are worth more than any naked body could proclaim in the shadows, more than a man’s whim or your father’s mistake you are no less valuable as a size 16, than a size 4 you are no less valuable as a 32A than a 36C, your sexiness is defined by concentric circles within your wood; wisdom you are a goddamn tree stump with leaves sprouting out: reborn
I once had a boyfriend who applauded me and thought that my sense of style and fashion was commendable. He loved the way I did my hair, but when it came to my make up he told me that I shouldn’t wear it. I had never expressed any qualms with wearing makeup, and it wasn’t a burden for me. For whatever reason though, he thought it was degrading and stupid for women to wear. I don’t understand why someone would praise you for your fashion sense that takes time and money, and for damaging your hair with hot tools for it to look a certain way, but then have any kind of stance against whether a woman chooses to wear makeup or not and claim that it’s degrading and women shouldn’t feel obligated to wear it.
Even after I explained to him that I didn’t feel obligated to wear it, and that it just made some of us more comfortable..he still wouldn’t agree. Even after I explained that it’s a form of creativity or expression for some people, he still held the same stance. Yet somehow fashion and making sure your hair looks a certain way, it isn’t the same?
This debate is so exhausting though. You’re either putting in too much effort or too little. Not enough or just too much. Sometimes I fear leaving the house without having my hair at least somewhat done and a touch of makeup followed by a nice outfit on the chance that I will be viewed as the ‘lazy’ fat who doesn’t take care of themselves. On the other hand, some people view fashion and dressing up to be shallow or over compensating. A fatal flaw that you need to point out in a person because that kind of interest should be left for middle school or high school. I wonder if they point the same thing out to people who are sports fans? Who greatly enjoy video games? Who obsess over cars or go out drinking and partying regularly? Do they enforce these interests and activities as also being shallow? Do they feel the need to tell these people that ‘you are more than x, y, or z’? Do they feel the need to police these people on what their interests and ways of expressing themselves are? On what they find pretty or interesting? On what they find inspirational or intriguing?
I don’t understand the idea of cutting down one hobby or interest as being vastly infererior to others. As if they’re on some measured bar graph to show what value and significance they hold in comparison to the rest. Isn’t human enjoyment and satisfaction subjective? We obviously don’t all derive pleasure and fulfillment from the same things.
People are more than their interests and hobbies and what they show on their blogs. Though, should they be devalued and criticized for said interests when they don’t hold up to what you find important? If they’re not harming anyone, then it begs the question of why you would care in the first place.
I love Arrested Development but I have no love for its crazy fans who quote everything even the lines that are not that funny and talk about it all the time and make all their Facebook cover photos into screenshots from the show.