i read once, “Adults often forget what it’s like being young because they block it out.”
right after that:
“Similar to trauma victims.” --
last summer, when i told that man old enough to be my father that i had a boyfriend, he said “so?”
when I told him i was a minor, he said “and?”
there are no boundaries anymore, no barriers. and don’t tell me “boys will be boys” because that doesn’t make it okay.
don’t tell me I was asking for it because what I’m really asking for is for it to stop. --
i wish i was a person and not numbers on a scale. i wish i was a human being and not the cleavage in my tank top.
i wish we would stop hating ourselves. i wish girls were allowed to say no and eat every day and forget to shave their legs.
i wish boys were allowed to cry and be ballerinas and speak up when something hurts.
god. i wish we thought we deserved more.
(and don’t tell me none of this is supposed to bother me
because it does.) --
listen. i’m sick. sick of having to hear honks and whistles and “hey, baby!” and being told “maybe if you covered up a little more.”
sick of having to see rape stories all over the news and being told “she probably led him on.”
this is not a fault in my brain. do not trivialize me because i’m an angry seventeen year old girl.
do not trivialize me because you’re afraid to admit that something is wrong. --
we are seen for the length of our shorts. we are seen for the size of our bras.
nobody can see us because we’re walking stereotypes. words invented to hurt us for the choices we make.
bitch, whore, dyke, prude. “i’d fuck you straight, girl” “cunt.” “you should feel lucky that any guy would touch you. fatty.”
my body, my hormones, and my biochemistry have been turned against me.
but why doesn’t anybody notice?
doesn’t anybody care? --
parents, if you know what it’s like to be a kid, fucking act like it. don’t tell me you don’t remember. don’t tell me you blocked it all out. don’t tell me to ignore it.
how about this?
i’ll ignore it the moment “yesterday” becomes “thirty years ago.” --
i’m scared, and i’m alone. sixth grade girls are giving blowjobs to boys in my homeroom just so they can feel wanted and forty year old women sell sex tips that don’t work because somewhere along the way, we let sex define us.
and somewhere along the way, boys became nothing but animals and girls became rental spaces on legs.
Hi! I'm from GrammarNaziCritiques and I'll be reviewing your poem today
Wow. This was a bold poem. A lot of people would find this hard to put into a readable format, but you did and it was good to read... And harrowing too... Seeing the darkness of our world expressed in verse.
Personally I think your opening quote didnt need to be broken up, simply having the "similar to trauma victims" part might actually be more effective.
I thought the verse where you quoted all the derogatory things that were said especially powerful, accumulating them all made them seem like an assault which I found conveyed your message perfectly.
I also really liked the verse which extended the injustices to the pressures put upon boys, because girls aren't the only ones limited by stereotypical gender roles.
I found there was a bit of a conflict in section six which I didn't quite get. I understood the importance of bringing the parental block back into it, considering how you introduced it in the beginning, but I feel that the whole "don't tell me to forget... I'll forget in 30 years" bit wasn't adding too it's strength. I think if it was more of a plea for them to remember it could add to the "why weren't we warned?" Line.
Talking of which I loved that bit. Very well done.
Finally, please bear in mind that all of the above is solely my opinion. I aim to highlight aspects you may not have considered yourself but don't take my suggestions as compulsory. Ultimately it comes down to whether you are completely satisfied with this poem.
I don't know why you saw confusion here. There's only anger in this poem.
Firstly, that's not universally true. Personally I am absolutely attracted to guys who are willing to express their emotions, who don't grit their jaws and bite their tongues when they're in pain. And secondly, even if it were true, it doesn't matter what makes for an attractive guy. A person's life shouldn't be centered around being attractive. It's centered around being happy and being free and being allowed to do as they wish.
Ohmygod, thank you. Thank you for understanding how I feel, because I go to a girls school and the amount of shit we get for being 'slutty whores' is unbelievable. And I've never worn anything shorter than three quarter length trousers and yet I'm judged because people are goddamnit my fingers are shaking and I can't even write properly I'll try again.
If only you could see my face, you'd probably laugh. God, your work makes me so pathetic inside.
I'm so sorry that I can't give you the praise you deserve, but my god, all I can say is thank you. Thank you for trying to let everybody know what's wrong with the world, because I'm horribly weak to do it myself and to know that somebody out there is trying too makes me feel that much better. Thanks, man.
(Proof of how much your words mean -- I showed this to my brother and I heard him crying in his room, after I left.)
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
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