I know it's lame, but I cling on to his every word,
Even though it's really nothing that I haven't heard.
When we walk down the hall sometimes he smiles and talks to me,
And I can't help but laugh because it's so damn funny,
That stupid joke 'bout the Jews,
Hitler and concentrated orange juice,
It would be so dumb if it was anyone but him,
The unnatainable prize in this game I cannot win.
I make excuses about my crazy stupid heart,
But to me it's just one painful unamusing farce,
It's so hard to say one thing and feel another,
I hate how we lie to each other,
But that's what I have to do.
She's just so beautiful,
That girl he just asked out,
And she's got everything that I have to live without.
Sometimes I get lost in fantasies,
But I know he would never like a girl like me,
I'm too loud,
I'm too bold,
I'm too young,
I'm too everything.
And so I walk with my head down,
The same tired, lonely nerd,
I try to remember that I don't need boys,
And I shouldn't be one of their many toys,
But sometimes it's so hard to be a girl,
Trying to find a place in this world.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Monday, February 07, 2011
Mean girls.
They don't know what it feels like to
Walk alone.
They don't know how bad it feels to
Cry all the way home.
They don't know how angry I feel when they
Laugh at me.
And get all those boys I like to
Laugh with them.
All they do is point out my
Flaws.
I know they're there but I try and look like I
Don't care.
I sit in front of them but I can still feel them
Stare.
They don't understand me and I don't understand
Them.
They don't have real names to me they're just
Hate
Mean
Jealous
Spite
Bitch
That's all they are.
But they still hurt me because I'm still just a
Little girl.
Alone in this world.
Cross my heart and hope to die,
Poke a needle in my eye,
If I die before I wake
I pray that all their hearts will break,
Like they broke mine.
I hope they turn as ugly as they made me out to be,
I hope that nothing turns out for them the way they wanted it to be,
I hope with all my heart they die unhappy,
Amen.
They don't know what it feels like to
Walk alone.
They don't know how bad it feels to
Cry all the way home.
They don't know how angry I feel when they
Laugh at me.
And get all those boys I like to
Laugh with them.
All they do is point out my
Flaws.
I know they're there but I try and look like I
Don't care.
I sit in front of them but I can still feel them
Stare.
They don't understand me and I don't understand
Them.
They don't have real names to me they're just
Hate
Mean
Jealous
Spite
Bitch
That's all they are.
But they still hurt me because I'm still just a
Little girl.
Alone in this world.
Cross my heart and hope to die,
Poke a needle in my eye,
If I die before I wake
I pray that all their hearts will break,
Like they broke mine.
I hope they turn as ugly as they made me out to be,
I hope that nothing turns out for them the way they wanted it to be,
I hope with all my heart they die unhappy,
Amen.
men's rights.
It may seem strange, but I am a feminist and a men's right activist.
You see, much of my hatred towards the male sex is focused at a somewhat small (or, at least, not the majority) percentage of the sex, the ones I am most often faced with. If you had to go to school and attempt to date the boys I know, then believe me, it would be very easy to turn into the man-hater I appear to be.
When I go on my anti-male rants, you must understand that some things some certain boys have done has really hurt me to the core. I am racked by anger that someone could even contemplate doing things that they do, and that they don't even care, don't feel guilty, or obliged to say sorry. I am racked by shame, too, that I fell for those farked up bastards. It is natural to feel bitter, hate the whole sex, when one is a woman of my age, increasingly frustrated by the failings of the much ballyhooed state of love, and the disappointing mindsets of the men that supposedly come with the nirvana of romance. Feminist or no, it is every little girl's dream to fall in love, have a big white wedding and a husband who you're s'posed to live 'happily ever after' with. Even when you get older and your dreams and expectations get a bit more realistic, all you get are unsympathetic dumpings online, blantant cold rejections to your face, and endless rumours routinely calling you a slut, then a frigid bitch, a man-hating feminist and then back to a slut again. When one is called a whore so often by society you imagine that there are a lot of men behind that, and you hate them too.
but I haven't given up my optimism. I like to think that boys at high school are so derogatory, so disgusting in their habits and manners because they lack the finesse that education brings, and because they lack the crazy-stringent social conventions women must adhere to in primary school, they slack off, become arseholes, until several hookers and 'shock! horror! she rejected me! she rejected me!' moments jolt them back to reality. Or of those who are nice, they start seeing that pretty girls aren't always the right girls. That sort of thing. I like to think that despite everything, there are nice men out there who aren't trying to rape and pillage and plunder and rob us of our rights. And as nice as they are, men's rights are a little behind the ball too.
For example, victims of rape who are male are laughing stock, and I don't understand why. Sure, woman-on-man rape is a little hard to wrap our hands around, but it happens, and these poor souls hardly deserve to be laughed at - rape is a shameful experience as it is, and it's worse when a society doesn't take it easily. Men too can be victims of domestic violence, etc. Men are not always the macho characters imposed on them, the manly men they pretend to be. Men have vulnerabilities too, and instead of laughing at them we have to help them swallow their pride and let us help them, but as of yet that help is so far away.
Human rights, men's rights, women's rights, children's rights - they're so behind time I often wonder what we boast of, as a world, as a nation. What is so good about being a woman in Australia? Nothing, only you're better off than the Burqa clad people in Afghanistan. But should our so called life of luxury be compared to such shocking standards as that? No! Just as I say that women's rights are so much behind men's rights, men's rights aren't too sunny either. We have no rights, that's what I'm saying, for both sexes. We live in an endless cycle of misconception, of wrong conclusions. Just because some people have it a whole lot worse doesn't mean that we can't have it a whole lot better. Everyone, regardless of sex, race, age, need better rights.We're too content with so little. Think about it, if we fought harder, we could achieve so much, for everyone.
I get so frustrated with the world. I want to meet men who can prove that the whole sex isn't as bad as I know them to be. I want to go to some nonexistant place of equality. I want to be things, see things, know things, to tell me that this world isn't as disappointing, as anticlimatic, as it seems to me now. I'm grateful for what I've got, but I'm so frustrated because I want, and deserve, so much more, as do we all.
You see, much of my hatred towards the male sex is focused at a somewhat small (or, at least, not the majority) percentage of the sex, the ones I am most often faced with. If you had to go to school and attempt to date the boys I know, then believe me, it would be very easy to turn into the man-hater I appear to be.
When I go on my anti-male rants, you must understand that some things some certain boys have done has really hurt me to the core. I am racked by anger that someone could even contemplate doing things that they do, and that they don't even care, don't feel guilty, or obliged to say sorry. I am racked by shame, too, that I fell for those farked up bastards. It is natural to feel bitter, hate the whole sex, when one is a woman of my age, increasingly frustrated by the failings of the much ballyhooed state of love, and the disappointing mindsets of the men that supposedly come with the nirvana of romance. Feminist or no, it is every little girl's dream to fall in love, have a big white wedding and a husband who you're s'posed to live 'happily ever after' with. Even when you get older and your dreams and expectations get a bit more realistic, all you get are unsympathetic dumpings online, blantant cold rejections to your face, and endless rumours routinely calling you a slut, then a frigid bitch, a man-hating feminist and then back to a slut again. When one is called a whore so often by society you imagine that there are a lot of men behind that, and you hate them too.
but I haven't given up my optimism. I like to think that boys at high school are so derogatory, so disgusting in their habits and manners because they lack the finesse that education brings, and because they lack the crazy-stringent social conventions women must adhere to in primary school, they slack off, become arseholes, until several hookers and 'shock! horror! she rejected me! she rejected me!' moments jolt them back to reality. Or of those who are nice, they start seeing that pretty girls aren't always the right girls. That sort of thing. I like to think that despite everything, there are nice men out there who aren't trying to rape and pillage and plunder and rob us of our rights. And as nice as they are, men's rights are a little behind the ball too.
For example, victims of rape who are male are laughing stock, and I don't understand why. Sure, woman-on-man rape is a little hard to wrap our hands around, but it happens, and these poor souls hardly deserve to be laughed at - rape is a shameful experience as it is, and it's worse when a society doesn't take it easily. Men too can be victims of domestic violence, etc. Men are not always the macho characters imposed on them, the manly men they pretend to be. Men have vulnerabilities too, and instead of laughing at them we have to help them swallow their pride and let us help them, but as of yet that help is so far away.
Human rights, men's rights, women's rights, children's rights - they're so behind time I often wonder what we boast of, as a world, as a nation. What is so good about being a woman in Australia? Nothing, only you're better off than the Burqa clad people in Afghanistan. But should our so called life of luxury be compared to such shocking standards as that? No! Just as I say that women's rights are so much behind men's rights, men's rights aren't too sunny either. We have no rights, that's what I'm saying, for both sexes. We live in an endless cycle of misconception, of wrong conclusions. Just because some people have it a whole lot worse doesn't mean that we can't have it a whole lot better. Everyone, regardless of sex, race, age, need better rights.We're too content with so little. Think about it, if we fought harder, we could achieve so much, for everyone.
I get so frustrated with the world. I want to meet men who can prove that the whole sex isn't as bad as I know them to be. I want to go to some nonexistant place of equality. I want to be things, see things, know things, to tell me that this world isn't as disappointing, as anticlimatic, as it seems to me now. I'm grateful for what I've got, but I'm so frustrated because I want, and deserve, so much more, as do we all.
we are all fools in love.
The reason why men are fools in love is because men in highschool are not really men at all, still boys, and they'll remain ignorant, arrogant, immature boys, for the most part, until they're well into their 20's or 30's. They don't understand women, heck, they don't understand themselves. You know how children are so self-obsessed, everything's me me me? I'm not being sexist, but that's how most boys act when they're fifteen or sixteen, which they are now, in my year eleven classes. They don't give a toss that girls have to worry about looks and hair and clothes and periods and getting pregnant and all that, all they care about is how much attention is being paid to them, why they're not getting enough, and pretending they don't like it. The few who break this mould, the perfect, perfect Mr Darcys, the ones that are kind and elegant and handsome and all that turn into Mr Bingleys at the last minute, preferring Miss Pretty-Face Jane to the feisty Lizzy we all think we are.
The reason why women are fools in love is because we fail to recognise that men are neither suitable nor prepared for love when we are all ready to go charging in to the gory world that is french kissing and Valentine's day. Even if we do see it, like I do, we can't resist it. We have hormones and romance novels and bad chick flicks pushing us to do what will inevitably end in a mess of mascara puddles and endless amounts of ice cream.
You can't blame either sex, although to be honest, we all hate men for not freaking growing up when they're s'posed to. Sometimes I think their blatant immaturity, their selfish disdain for the feelings of others and the 'coolness' of the trend to be blantantly disrespectful towards, well, anybody, has less to do with hormones and more to do with the fact that it is simply acceptable in a way that it is and was never acceptable for women to behave in such a manner. There was once a day and age when men were expected to stand up and bow to a lady when she entered a room, be courteous and chivalrous, ladies first, all of that. And because it was expected, few breached it. We are nothing more than sheep following the shepherd of convention.
It's evidence of the sexism of this world. Women are expected to dress up, pluck this, hide that, and men can be basically whatever they want. Sure, we want them to be tanned and ripped to perfection, Mr Darcy and all, but it's okay if you're a farked up asshole who devestates innocent teenage hearts like the Americans bombed Hiroshima, everyone's okay with that, because they'll say that you're 'being a boy' and we're overreacting. Sure, we'll take it. We'll take anything.
As if.
The reason why women are fools in love is because we fail to recognise that men are neither suitable nor prepared for love when we are all ready to go charging in to the gory world that is french kissing and Valentine's day. Even if we do see it, like I do, we can't resist it. We have hormones and romance novels and bad chick flicks pushing us to do what will inevitably end in a mess of mascara puddles and endless amounts of ice cream.
You can't blame either sex, although to be honest, we all hate men for not freaking growing up when they're s'posed to. Sometimes I think their blatant immaturity, their selfish disdain for the feelings of others and the 'coolness' of the trend to be blantantly disrespectful towards, well, anybody, has less to do with hormones and more to do with the fact that it is simply acceptable in a way that it is and was never acceptable for women to behave in such a manner. There was once a day and age when men were expected to stand up and bow to a lady when she entered a room, be courteous and chivalrous, ladies first, all of that. And because it was expected, few breached it. We are nothing more than sheep following the shepherd of convention.
It's evidence of the sexism of this world. Women are expected to dress up, pluck this, hide that, and men can be basically whatever they want. Sure, we want them to be tanned and ripped to perfection, Mr Darcy and all, but it's okay if you're a farked up asshole who devestates innocent teenage hearts like the Americans bombed Hiroshima, everyone's okay with that, because they'll say that you're 'being a boy' and we're overreacting. Sure, we'll take it. We'll take anything.
As if.
Friday, February 04, 2011
Lighting Fires.
Waiting,
waiting,
In restless, endless, impatience.
Starved, parched, craving.
Always at another man's whim.
Here I stand, a pile of tinder,
No flame.
Come now,
My love,
Let's light fires.
Fire frightens with ferocity,
Terror and sheer velocity,
But it sates my curiousity,
No flame.
Come now,
My love,
Let's light fires.
You don't know my frustration,
Spark after spark,
Yet no flame to warm my chilled soul,
Frostbitten heart.
I strike,
I strike,
I strike again,
In desperation, thirst for flame.
And then a cold wind,
Or cruel rain,
Snuffs out what I've made.
No flame.
Come now,
My love,
Let's light fires.
I fear colder times,
Harder times,
With no light in the chill of midnight,
The sun is going down,
down.
down.
I crave my fire now.
I want warmth,
Heat,
Burn,
Anything.
Anything to save me from this unrelenting freeze.
No flame.
Come now,
My love,
Let's light fires.
waiting,
In restless, endless, impatience.
Starved, parched, craving.
Always at another man's whim.
Here I stand, a pile of tinder,
No flame.
Come now,
My love,
Let's light fires.
Fire frightens with ferocity,
Terror and sheer velocity,
But it sates my curiousity,
No flame.
Come now,
My love,
Let's light fires.
You don't know my frustration,
Spark after spark,
Yet no flame to warm my chilled soul,
Frostbitten heart.
I strike,
I strike,
I strike again,
In desperation, thirst for flame.
And then a cold wind,
Or cruel rain,
Snuffs out what I've made.
No flame.
Come now,
My love,
Let's light fires.
I fear colder times,
Harder times,
With no light in the chill of midnight,
The sun is going down,
down.
down.
I crave my fire now.
I want warmth,
Heat,
Burn,
Anything.
Anything to save me from this unrelenting freeze.
No flame.
Come now,
My love,
Let's light fires.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Against the tide.
I'm going against the flow,
I'm part of another tide now.
I'm not part of your 'wave' anymore,
You never liked it when I was, anyhow.
It's harder against the wind,
But the currents don't always take you to the right destination,
I want to live life now,
Don't want to waste anymore time on procrastination.
I've always gone against the flow,
I've always been part of my own tide,
There's never been any crew to my captain,
I've always run a one-woman show.
I've had so called 'allies' before,
More like pirates,
Always gunned me down.
But I'll follow my own path,
Maybe it'll turn my life around.
Against the tide,
Against the odds,
Dangerous, I know.
But when you've got a life to live
You have to live your life,
No point taking things slow.
I'm part of another tide now.
I'm not part of your 'wave' anymore,
You never liked it when I was, anyhow.
It's harder against the wind,
But the currents don't always take you to the right destination,
I want to live life now,
Don't want to waste anymore time on procrastination.
I've always gone against the flow,
I've always been part of my own tide,
There's never been any crew to my captain,
I've always run a one-woman show.
I've had so called 'allies' before,
More like pirates,
Always gunned me down.
But I'll follow my own path,
Maybe it'll turn my life around.
Against the tide,
Against the odds,
Dangerous, I know.
But when you've got a life to live
You have to live your life,
No point taking things slow.
this is the year everyone has been dreading/anticipating.
It's the big one. Year eleven.
You know how at the beginning of every year teachers say 'forget all your last years, this is the year that counts'? Well, this is the year when that is finally true.
There are the inevitable perks of being in year eleven - you get a locker which you can, with a fair amount of, um, 'encouragement', stuff your entire school bag into, and you get the last period of Monday off, whilst the poor buggers in junior school slog away at math problems you'll never have to touch again. People move out of your way, treat you with more respect. The teachers straighten up, take you seriously. You can be more bossy and picky about, well, everything. Now we have another excuse apart from PMS to be crabby - study, study, study.
But then there are the downsides - it's unbearably hot, and eight periods of non-stop reading, note taking, lecturing reduces my brain into a melted soup. There are people who don't take kindly to me in the class, for one reason or another - which is why you sit at the front, because then you can't see them. People stare at you, ask questions, doubt your choices. But it's alright. I knew what I signed up for.
I've only had two days of year eleven and I'm exhausted/exhilarated. Life hasn't gotten easier, but it seems to have more meaning now. That's what counts.
You know how at the beginning of every year teachers say 'forget all your last years, this is the year that counts'? Well, this is the year when that is finally true.
There are the inevitable perks of being in year eleven - you get a locker which you can, with a fair amount of, um, 'encouragement', stuff your entire school bag into, and you get the last period of Monday off, whilst the poor buggers in junior school slog away at math problems you'll never have to touch again. People move out of your way, treat you with more respect. The teachers straighten up, take you seriously. You can be more bossy and picky about, well, everything. Now we have another excuse apart from PMS to be crabby - study, study, study.
But then there are the downsides - it's unbearably hot, and eight periods of non-stop reading, note taking, lecturing reduces my brain into a melted soup. There are people who don't take kindly to me in the class, for one reason or another - which is why you sit at the front, because then you can't see them. People stare at you, ask questions, doubt your choices. But it's alright. I knew what I signed up for.
I've only had two days of year eleven and I'm exhausted/exhilarated. Life hasn't gotten easier, but it seems to have more meaning now. That's what counts.
I wish.
I see your sad face,
Your sad smile,
Sittin' alone whilst the boys run around.
And I don't know how it ended like this,
But I don't think I'm the only victim now.
I wish you knew how much you hurt me,
I wish you knew what it would mean if you just said sorry,
I wish you knew that I'll always be your friend.
I wish I knew why you never let me forgive you,
I wish I knew exactly what I ever meant to you,
I wish you knew what I knew,
And I wish I knew what you knew.
I see your eyes stare without really seeing,
I wonder what you're thinking of.
I'd tell you I miss you but I don't know how,
And I've never heard silence quite this loud.
I'm dying to know if it's killing you like it's killing me.
I wish you knew how much it kills me,
How easy it seems for you to forget me,
I wish you knew just a little of my pain.
I wish I knew what's hurting you,
I wish I knew how to make you smile again.
I wish I knew how to let us talk again.
There's a wall between us,
Of indecision,
Of misunderstanding,
Of wounds we don't want to open again.
There's something that stops me from running up to you,
Hold you,
Laugh with you,
Like I used to.
I wish I could break through...
I wish you knew what I knew,
I wish I knew what you knew.
Your sad smile,
Sittin' alone whilst the boys run around.
And I don't know how it ended like this,
But I don't think I'm the only victim now.
I wish you knew how much you hurt me,
I wish you knew what it would mean if you just said sorry,
I wish you knew that I'll always be your friend.
I wish I knew why you never let me forgive you,
I wish I knew exactly what I ever meant to you,
I wish you knew what I knew,
And I wish I knew what you knew.
I see your eyes stare without really seeing,
I wonder what you're thinking of.
I'd tell you I miss you but I don't know how,
And I've never heard silence quite this loud.
I'm dying to know if it's killing you like it's killing me.
I wish you knew how much it kills me,
How easy it seems for you to forget me,
I wish you knew just a little of my pain.
I wish I knew what's hurting you,
I wish I knew how to make you smile again.
I wish I knew how to let us talk again.
There's a wall between us,
Of indecision,
Of misunderstanding,
Of wounds we don't want to open again.
There's something that stops me from running up to you,
Hold you,
Laugh with you,
Like I used to.
I wish I could break through...
I wish you knew what I knew,
I wish I knew what you knew.
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
The Ten Virtues of Being a Single Woman
1. The absence of a significant other means that I can divide my time quite comfortably between study, eating and The Big Bang Theory. My study schedule is so crowded that really, there is not much else that can fit in my life for the next two years. A boyfriend would ruin my plans quite nicely.
2. As I am not the Virgin Mary, I will not have to worry about teenage pregnancy. Or STI, for that matter.
3. As a single woman I can spend a good deal of my time guiltlessly perving on people I will never meet online. From my limited experience I know that Google Imaging Sam Worthington and Eric Bana is uncomfortable when one is in a relationship - the closest I will come to cheating, I suppose.
4. In the absence of a boyfriend I can watch as much Pride & Prejudice as I like, and I do not have to endure films that are not in English, badly dubbed and involve excessive amounts of bad kungfu.
5. I spend a good deal of my time in my pyjamas with no makeup, my hair unwashed and eating like a pig. One can only do this when one is single or happily married with tiresome kids as an excuse for this slovenly behaviour.
6. I love wearing lipstick, and lipgloss. Apparently boys don't like either.
7. The only time that I have religiously shaved my legs every day is during the brief periods of 'dating'. Imagine having to actually shave your legs every day. Bleurgh.
8. Being single when one is as young as I am gives men the opportunity to grow up (this takes roughly thirty-forty years) with as little heartbreak whilst waiting as possible.
9. If I got a boyfriend who wasn't about a foot taller than me, I would never, ever get to wear my new black stilettos. Screw Romeo and Juliet, no stilettos is a proper tragedy.
10. I can be me, not a Mrs, or the girlfriend of. Just me.
2. As I am not the Virgin Mary, I will not have to worry about teenage pregnancy. Or STI, for that matter.
3. As a single woman I can spend a good deal of my time guiltlessly perving on people I will never meet online. From my limited experience I know that Google Imaging Sam Worthington and Eric Bana is uncomfortable when one is in a relationship - the closest I will come to cheating, I suppose.
4. In the absence of a boyfriend I can watch as much Pride & Prejudice as I like, and I do not have to endure films that are not in English, badly dubbed and involve excessive amounts of bad kungfu.
5. I spend a good deal of my time in my pyjamas with no makeup, my hair unwashed and eating like a pig. One can only do this when one is single or happily married with tiresome kids as an excuse for this slovenly behaviour.
6. I love wearing lipstick, and lipgloss. Apparently boys don't like either.
7. The only time that I have religiously shaved my legs every day is during the brief periods of 'dating'. Imagine having to actually shave your legs every day. Bleurgh.
8. Being single when one is as young as I am gives men the opportunity to grow up (this takes roughly thirty-forty years) with as little heartbreak whilst waiting as possible.
9. If I got a boyfriend who wasn't about a foot taller than me, I would never, ever get to wear my new black stilettos. Screw Romeo and Juliet, no stilettos is a proper tragedy.
10. I can be me, not a Mrs, or the girlfriend of. Just me.
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