September 10, 2003
Tongue Biters Anonymous
You know what I hate? I hate being pissed off and wanting to burst into tears at the same time.
I wrote this poem in response to a certain male's unwanted attention. I'm beginning to wonder if I project an image of myself, or if images are projected upon me. Just because I am nice does not mean I am a nice girl, it does not mean I want to be your girl, that I am dying for your attention, or anyone else's, because my beauty has gone overlooked, because I'm a sweet, subdued poet, because I'm female, because I have breasts that I choose not to bear (and ever think it just might not be to you?), because I am aloof and mysterious and a flower unfurled. Maybe I'm just anti-social, eh?
I. Just. Hate. It.
Boys assume everything. They say they don't understand girls, but in reality they just don't try. They cast stereotypes upon us and then treat us in a manner following suit with said stereotype. It's so much easier to deal with women when there are only five or six different kinds, and you can lump them together and use a different voice depending upon which sort you're speaking with.
You know, fucker, and I can say that 'cause I'm not who you think I am, I loathe your weakness. Don't make up totally jack-ass reasons to ask for my phone number, or wait for me after class so you can borrow my book. Bullshit. Bullshit. If you want my phone number, fucking ask me for it like you actually have a dick. It's your source of power, isn't it? Or do you have to borrow your power from me, and other women who you feel you can dump yourself upon, because we're strong and receptive and such good listeners and so nice?
And, you know, we don't fight back.
The more I think about this the angrier I get, because I see myself having been shoved into this position so many times before, and people just assuming that they not only know who I am, but what I want, how I want it, when and where and who with. Fuck me if I don't like to initiate sex just because I can.
My boyfriend, who is a man, is amazing in his capacity to treat me with respect and genuine care. Sometimes he doesn't understand. But he doesn't always expect me to understand him either.
You are a Boy.
And I am a bitch.
astera at 11:25 a.m.