Of the night
In my dreams
Of the night
In my dreams
If it wasn’t for writing,
I’d probably go insane.
It’s the only way I know
how to really feel.
My emotions come in forms of letters,
which magically get spun into words.
And I, the observer, sit back and watch as the pen takes me.
It’s as if the hand that moves the pen isn’t mine.
I can feel it moving,
but my mind is not the one thinking the words.
It’s almost spiritual, you could say.
It’s as if the universe knows I struggle with talking
and therefore graciously lets me share through writing.
Written words have always made more sense to me.
They’re intellectually raw and more difficult to produce,
which I tend to prefer.
I guess it’s because I have always lived in my head.
So for me,
writing comes naturally.
Yet, it may not always be pretty,
But neither are feelings.
In the end,
the value is in the effort
not in the display.
So please continue writing
I want to read all that you have to say.
So I have been jobless for two months now, which has given me plenty to reflect on.
Such as, my hair.
I stopped shaving when quarantine hit in mid March because we were working from home, but after a month of not shaving I started questioning why I even do it.
Is it for me or for them?
I have been shaving since I was in middle school, like most girls in my class, I just did what everyone else did. But now when I think about it, I was just a kid when I was told hair is ugly on women.
But what enraged me more than that, was when I researched the origin of women shaving in the United States I found it started because of Gillette’s advertisements. They saw an untouched market and pounced at the idea of having a bigger market share. And I understand this is the essence of capitalism and profit and all that, but does that justify the means?
Now I am called a hippy if I decide to stop shaving.
But what I really am is normal and natural and being myself.
And you are god damn right, I am triggered by this topic.
I believe it is justified to get enraged when my insecurities are being exploited for profit.
I truly hate these fucking advertisements that tell me I have a problem when in reality there is no problem. They are simply creating a problem in order to sell me their solution.
It is that simple, yet we fall for the bait every time.
We love our insecurities being validated. I don’t know why. I assume because it feels good to have someone tell us our hate for ourselves is legitimate.
It almost makes us feel justified for the daily inner loathing.
But what if we advertised differently?
What if we advertised honestly?
What if we encouraged people to be vulnerable and feel safe in their skin?
Wouldn’t that be better for humanity?
Don’t we want humanity to evolve positively?
The only way I see us evolving is if we stop falling for the corporate bait that tells us “we are not enough”.
Because that is what they are actually selling us.
And it is fucking bullshit.
(Link to article about Gillette) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_removal_of_leg_and_underarm_hair_in_the_United_States
I rather breathe in the smoke of my pain
Than listen to the lies screaming I’m insane.
So kiss me where it hurts.
I want to feel it burn.
The fire soothes my flesh
From scratching to death.
When I was a girl all I wanted to hear was, “I support you.”
I wanted to be trusted with my ideas.
I wanted to be heard.
Instead, I was silenced.
I was bullied.
He would talk over me.
Then when I would start to crumble he would throw in a last jab,
“Why are you crying?”, he’d sneer.
The patronizing was the final straw.
I stopped trusting.
I stopped crying.
I built a wall around my heart because if I couldn’t trust family, who could I trust?
I couldn’t even trust me.
For years I was bullied along with my sister and mother.
I thought it was normal.
I even dated men who were bullies.
Because I thought that was all I was worth.
Until I met you.
And everything changed.
You were the light I needed.
You were this glimpse of another reality.
One full of joy and kindness.
So I jumped.
I escaped into your belonging.
But unfortunately, with my jump came my pain.
What I thought I escaped, I actually dragged with me.
And now you are seeing it unraveling and the girl who laughed at all your jokes is drowning with the sharks and you can’t throw a life raft.
I’m sorry, babe.
But these sharks are mine and I can’t keep being rescued.
I have to learn how to survive with them on my own.
I have to do the work.
And maybe one day, with enough love, my sharks can turn into dolphins.