What Happens Next: A Gallimaufry

melancholic romantic comic cynic. bi & genderqueer. fantasy writer. sysrae on ao3.

poem/teenage girls

as a teenage girl you get points

for being different to other teenage

girls, which leads you to believe

that other

teenage girls

are the enemy.

.

this logic says,

you cannot be what you are.

this logic says

you may only define yourself as good

as opposed

to the parts of yourself, your age and sex

and generational culture

you excise.

.

because being a teenage girl

is a trap

(oh admiral ackbar, hear our prayers) –

.

you cannot have passions, unless they are

the passions of teenage boys

and even then, you are suspect:

a thief, a dilettante, a liar (she only pretends

to like video games

so that boys who think girls who like video games

are fakers and whores

will sleep with her, because that’s

what you’re meant to aspire to – that’s

the goal, because obviously

your self esteem is so low and weak

your only aim

is feigning interest in things you hate

so that boys who are trained revile the attempt

might deign to notice your bodies

and not your brains) –

.

you cannot have joys

that are teen-girl joys

unless you want to be superficial, shallow, dumb

because girls are dumb

and their joys are dumb

and the only way to be cool as frozen carbonite

is to say so, loudly and often, in

the presence of boys

until you believe it totally; until the laughter

no longer cuts the valves of your heart

and serves them up like sashimi

.

(because only girls who are worthless sheep

like what other girls like; because only girls

who dare to be girls

are worthless)

.

and the lies have you coming and going:

love this thing, you’re made a pretender;

love that thing, you’ve got no brains –

is there anything teenage girls can love

that the world won’t flinch from admitting is cool;

where the world won’t say, you really

should know better?

.

not yet, there’s not –

and the only answer

is love yourself

regardless.

.

love what you love

and make no apologies

for loving it;

love who you love

and make no apologies

for loving them

.

if everything you do

draws abuse and criticism

then love what the fuck you want

whatever the fuck you want

and know at least

that the love is pure;

that your love and your selves

exist beyond apology

.

(they always did, of course –

but it’s hard to tell

when your wrist is slapped

regardless)

.

so love what you love

and discard what you don’t

and try what maybe you think

you could love; and try

what you think you could maybe like

because life isn’t only love and hate:

.

there is no test

you’re meant to take to prove you’re worthy

of one day maybe sitting down and saying

I kinda like comics, I kinda like sewing

the world isn’t fucking high school, you won’t

be graded at age thirty-eight and half

on how many world series winners

or final fantasy villains your jaded buddies

have forced you to memorise

like times-tables or the endless fucking digits

of pi –

.

no.

you just love what the fuck you want

and one day soon

when those isolationist, fairweather foes

have figured out that circlejerking doesn’t

achieve a cultural mitosits, let alone a cellular –

those myopic bros and internalised misognyists

who oppose your learning even

the jist of forbidden lore – those social

border police

.

are going to have a rude awakening,

because, little sisters, when

you love?

that love moves mountains; you

are everything. 

  1. berlinbrill reblogged this from fozmeadows
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  6. pandoraeve reblogged this from fozmeadows and added:
    I really, really wish I knew this stuff at age 8, because I had a great deal of self-hate from this kind of thing. I was...
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