like her, unlike me.

{sources // one, two}

first of all, i am sorry, love. i am so sorry. you sent these to me in september of 2013 and almost two years later i'm finally actually doing something about it. i never knew what to say about your secrets and i never knew how to turn them into poetry, but your email kept popping up in my mind and i knew i had to do something. i think the constant reminder of your email was the voice of God prompting me. so i'm going to do what He says.
2. Sometimes I'm logical and I don't like that. So I try to find out what it's like to run entirely on feelings. And when I do, I feel pretty happy. But not any sort of new happy. And when I do, I feel worthless. And it's a new sort of deep, horrible worthless that makes me pinch and bite and cut myself. But it would be too logical to do a cost benefit analysis and find that it might be better to be logical. So I don't.) 
3. Sometimes I'm dumb and I don't like that. I swear I have the right ideas but that's not what comes out of my mouth or my actions. I'm a shallow blonde. So I try to be deep. And when I do, I make myself sad. Everything seems like a big deal. So I starve myself and hate and love my sore wrist at the same time. But if I can either keep myself on the edge of exhaustion and dehydration and starvation or be a dumb blonde which would you choose? 
4. The truth of why I'm being mean to myself is so dumb I pretend it's not true. Sometimes I think the reason I'm starving myself is because I said that dumb thing to him the other day and he probably thinks I'm an idiot. And sometimes I think it's because I'm trying to take control of my life where I have no control. Sometimes I think the reason I bite myself harder and harder is because my friends have problems and I'm coping with it. And sometimes I think it's because the world is a horrible place of darkness and I'm coping with it. Sometimes I think the reason I run a scissor blade over my wrist is because I want to have scars there and I want people to looks at my wrist and think "there's a girl who's different". And sometimes I think it's because I want to have scars there to remind myself the world is broken when I think it's not.Sometimes I think there's nothing really wrong with my life much it's pretty good and if I just bucked up I wouldn't do any of this. And sometimes I think I'm not ok. And I'm not sure which of these are the true one.
the thing about blonde girls in this society is that we depict them to be boy-crazy, superficial idiots who cheated on their SATs to get into a good school. when we hear the word "blonde girl," we automatically think of h&m and forever21 and pumpkin spice lattes and scarves and one direction and other things that seemingly make every blonde girl appear the same. people have come to the conclusion that blondes aren't special. that they have to try extra hard to be seen as a normal human being. they have to listen to alternative bands, wear black, dye their hair outrageous colours, maybe even identify as a feminist before being taken seriously. and if you think about it, it's kind of ridiculous. it's ridiculous that we've let a movie portrayal or just one person shape the way we see an entire group of people.

that said, there is nothing wrong with liking or adhering to the aesthetics of other people. that said, it is completely unfair to you that you are perceived as a shallow blonde just because you don't always know how to say what you want to say. it is completely unfair to you that you are perceived as shallow just because you're a blonde, and that it would take something as detrimental as self-harm to get people to see there's something more to you than that.

because the truth is, there is. there are things about you that are so intricate even the most detailed of scientists can't replicate them. there are things about you that you can't see and even more so things that other people can't see. so what are you doing? you are taking the things you can see and picking them away with the scissors because you see them as unimportant. you're cutting out the most vital parts of yourself because you don't think you're necessary. you are slowly burning because there is some possible chance that you might warm someone else. you are destroying yourself little by little because of a standard that throws you under the bus. don't make yourself sad because it's a requirement think bigger. don't kill yourself because you think they'll look at your body and feel bad, saying they should've listened.
1. I can't tell anyone because even I would be weirded out. And I never get weirded out. Sometimes I think maybe I'm Gay. Or Bi. Or weird. I've never told anyone. I was pretty convinced I was Bi a while ago but now I'm not sure. See usually I don't like sex. I rarely get turned on. And I have to think about it. (I already sound like a psycho. Whatever.) My fantasies are sometimes girls sometimes guys. Honestly girls are way more attractive than guys. My truths/lies I hide sometimes: I live in a sexual culture where naked women are everywhere how can I not get influenced? Ive done far more intimate things with my galfriends than my guyfriends. Girls mature faster than boys and I like mature people. Its attractive. So I think it might be normal. Maybe other people feel this way. But I don't know. And I can't ask. Because what if I'm wrong and it's just me.

my friend rachel and i collaborated on this one.

Girls like her
with thick black clumps
of mascara in her lashes
and freckles and tan lines
on her shoulders.
Girls like her
who give big hugs
and use big words
they learned from
Victorian era romance novels.
Girls like her
who shine
like a lightbulb
without a lampshade.
Girls like her
who look my way
and meet my eye,
smiling with their whole face,
eyes squinted and dimples sunken deep.

Girls like her
make girls like me
lie in bed
at some unholy hour
looking at the moon and wishing
that she and I could
see this moon together.
Her breath against my shoulder,
her words strung together
like lazy embroidery,
her warmth shining light
into all my darkest corners.
Girls like her
makes girls like me
want to buy bouquets of flowers
“just because.”
Just because
I would do anything
to make her smile.
Just because
I want to feel her arms
on my waist, my arms
on her waist,
our souls and limbs
holding us together.
Just because.

Girls like her,
girls like me,
are as innumerable
as tulips in
the Netherlands
and stars in her eyes.
Girls like girls,
like her,
like me. 

i love you. i love you. i am so sorry you've had to go through all of this. i am so sorry both you and i have waited this long to see the product of your words. you are beautiful. you are valuable as you are. and yet, there is always room to grow. there are so many parts of all of us that need healing. 
but they will only heal if we let them. let them heal. it is time. it is beyond time. 
-kiss kiss kiss, goals-

1 comment :

  1. this. this went straight into my heart and i drank in every single word.

    keep doing you, jocee. <3


sometimes i do not understand why you guys like me so much, but the fact that you do (and that you keep coming around) makes me happier than you can even imagine.

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