I want to be meaningful;
But not so that no one can hear me.
I want to be deep;
But not so that no one can see me.
I want to be pretty;
But not so that I lie, discarded, face-up.
I want to be inspired;
But not a thief.
I want to experience;
To feel the wind on my cheeks,
The shock of fresh air,
The musty scent of a half friendship,
And the eyesore that only comes, empty-handed, from looking too hard.
But oh, how I want to look hard!
And feel the strands of hair on my face,
The fade on my boots,
And the warm, familiar tug of a heart to a love.
– but not so that no one knows me.
By The Nina Weevil. I own it; don’t copy it.
Your views will only be objectified if the basis on which your position stands/is stereotyped upon disregards intellectual processes.
…leave my home.
hate us, love us, stereotype us; we’re just two letters.
click for captions.
and the forest loomed below
it’s bigger than a breadbox
i confess that i have no idea how to use a camera
my iris and sidney picture
light or shadow?
i like your kneesocks.
getting ready act 1
getting ready act 2
i call this one “solitude”
and with good justification
these are my life
and these are my being
new horizons? screw that, i’ll stay where i am
we walk down the stairs to our home
i love this one
how to express in so few words?
“hey, eliza” act 1
“hey, eliza” act 2
“hey, eliza” act 3
together we walk
rolling down the hillside
we are never individual
ay look at those pretty flowers
i should probably let these speak for themselves
i’m envious of your hair. rock it.
really killing those perennials
true infatuation act 1
true infatuation act 2
and finally, a real smile.
We can no longer rely on double standards to justify our arguments, for how are we to meaningfully pose these as a means to an end while retaining our individuality?
(i know i know i know this took forever oh well–at least i didn’t forget)
At last, the feminist card! To waive responsibility, indeed. By Iris.
-When people are being annoying
-When you feel like leaving a conversation
-When someone says something bigoted and you feel the need to contest it.
I felt bad that I hadn’t posted anything for a while, so I wrote these “Color for a Blind Man” blurbs. Try to guess what the color looks like, then see the answer at the bottom.
1. This color is the sky, only when you’re turning your head to look at your secret love. This color is regret and a little failure, but also inspiration and plastic, and a dash of perfect. Don’t you ever admit it, though; this color is incredibly shy. Read this in a whisper. You’ve just heard the color. This is periwinkle, but only to the pretenders. And then it changes.
2. This color is sassy. You better like it, otherwise it’ll retort with one of exactly 17 comeback phrases it spent 30 minutes on the phone with it’s girlfriends talking about. Is it sad? Well, no, but it’s not like you would be able to tell anyways. Someday, it’ll chip, little by little, until what’s left is it’s true beauty, the part that not everyone may like. Then, people will simply walk by, wondering what happened.
3. This color is the anxious folds of your dress. It seems soft, fuzzy at the edges, but hardens once you touch it, so you’ll never know. This color is a memory, one that’s been kept in a chest in an abandoned basement. Someday, you’ll open it, and one day, you’ll perhaps taste it, in a dapple of sunlight stained by dead tree leaves. You’ll know what old yet virgin wine tastes like, freshly poured by your worst friend. Wait – was that a chemical?
More feminist/puberty/one-sided-arguments-on-social-constructs stuff to come later. I just wanted you guys to know that we’re not dead.