The Fact That You Can Feel So Strongly For Someone But They Never Have To Feel The Same. The Fact That

girl you look like you drop common loot when defeated

02/03/2021

It’s not me.

It wasn’t me being so out of it that everything seemed dull.

There was and there is a reason.

No overthinking ended up being futile insofar as it became a starting point for a new series of events.

Things started making sense as some behaviors connected themselves with words spoken by the people in question.

Incongruent actions were carried out by people who are no more coherent themselves.

It’s okay as much as it will not worsen.

I will not just bear with it and that is a given.

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My world has yet to change.

What has fundamentally morphed is only myself,albeit I have to carry on like this for a while longer.

I must work on myself without trying to find distractions,whether they force themselves in my life or I let them in willingly.

It all depends on my capability of consciously making the decisions which are waiting in line and have been for a while.

I’m Not/I Am

I’m Not…

I’m not the girl who would tie your tongue.

I’m not the girl who turns your head.

I’m not the girl you’d ask to prom

Or even on a date.

I’m not the girl who likes frills and lace.

I’m not the girl who’d be flirty or flighty.

I’m not the girl who you would daydream about.

I’m not the girl who everyone sees,

The one who beams beauty, radiance, and so carefree.

I’m not the one to be in the foreground.

I’m not visible to anyone.

I Am…

I am the girl you’d pass in the halls,

Who’d probably like you from afar, but never say a word.

I am the girl who’d sketch or write,

My words never reaching your heart or eyes.

I’m the girl who stands in the rain

That mixes with her tears and drowns out her cries.

I am the girl who is always the second choice.

Why on earth would I ever be the first?

I am the girl some would torment

Because I’m different and hide in the background.

I’m the girl that’s invisible to you.

The one you’d never remember until we meet again.

Angela Carter, “Black Venus”, Black Venus

[Text ID: “She was like a piano in a country where everybody has had their hands cut off.”]

I wonder what kind of girl I would be if the patriarchy didn’t exist. If gender roles and stereotypes didn’t stain my entire being. If I didn’t suffer at the hands of misogyny that molded the clay that was me. I wonder what I would do, what I would say, what I would like, what I would crave, what I would be. The likelihood of us being anything close to similar seems slim considering how many things could be different. I just wonder what type of woman I would be if I hadn’t been told from the day I was born how and who I should become. Would I still enjoy wearing makeup if I hadn’t been conditioned to feel better about myself with it on? Would my favorite color still be orange if pink hadn’t been forced on me and I didn’t care to make a point of rejecting it? Would I stand up for myself more if I hadn’t been taught to cater to the comfort of others before prioritizing my own? Would my natural instinct still be to feel wary of those around me if abuse and harassment and assault were not normalized in our society? Would I still want long hair if I hadn't been brainwashed into believing that my beauty is rooted in being feminine, and that my value is rooted in being beautiful? Would I be the same? How much, or how little, would that impossible girl resemble me as I am now? And are my interests and passions genuine—truly mine—or can they all be linked to some expectation to accommodate, some predetermined role to serve, some juxtaposing desire to please a system I don’t even like. Do I actually love video games as much as I think I do, or do I only like them because I think it makes me appear cooler to men? Do I actually want to get married as much as I think I do, or do I only want to because historically that was where the female fit in? Do I actually find solace in journaling as much as I think I do, or do I only find solace in it because it is the only time I can share my traumatic experiences without being called a crazy attention seeker? There is so much I wonder about, which parts of me are real and which have been tinkered with. Which is just pure me, and which is because of something else. A factor of the patriarch. Of course I’ll never know, but that truth does not keep me from being curious about the girl who does not suffer from the wrath of an internalized male gaze and the burden of internalized misogyny. I bet she is lovely—free of the shackles—and I hope she feels at peace.

— alhwrites

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

— Winston Churchill

Everything you did to me, I remember.

Mama, I made it out of your home alive, raised by the voices in my head.

— Warsan Shire, from “Extreme Girlhood,” Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head

“Hiding your hurt only intensifies it. Problems grow in the dark and only become bigger and bigger. But when exposed to the light of truth, they shrink. You are only as sick as your secrets. So take off your mask, stop pretending you’re perfect and walk into freedom.”

— Rick Warren

“All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.”

— Mitch Albom

“Losing your appetite because you’re sad is the worst feeling ever.”

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