I am not a pretty girl.

FAMILY open mic poem. I'm not a big fan of gender roles.

 

You are such a pretty girl

You are such a pretty girl.

One sentence, six words, seven years

Motherfucking mantra that kept me from considering a mirror, homeless in my own skin with no idea of what’s wrong or where to begin. There’s nothing new under the sun because when it comes to a question, none of us want to be the first one. Hips and breasts and heady glances and this isn’t what I paid for, isn’t what I asked for, who’s in charge of this place?

No refund or returns in life, make it work. Even my poetry sounds like a T.V. show.

Puberty plus three years, female form is getting cheaper, caught up in clichés and corsets and lace, better stay delicate and pale-faced, if we can’t break it we won’t buy it and tht’d be a waste. Cultural constructs of contradiction, get a man, get out on your own, don’t be a pushover, don’t be b***h, better a doormat then a dyke, but hey—stay true to yourself, just don’t feel anything like Rage or Sex or passion or power, negotiate your life to offend less and sell it off hour by hour, but hey, we’re empowered. 

F**k it.

Never wanted to be a woman anyways, can’t be a men without a bit more commitment—

Not that I’m guessing an elemental education emphasizing an emotional isolation is anymore appealing—so this whole gender thing? I quit. I quit I quit I quit but I still hear

You are such a pretty girl.

This sexgendersociety rebellion revelation is all in your head.

            Naturally, it’s obviously not between my legs. Not that I intend to let you there either , hand and tongues and demand and desires and who the f**k said you could touch me?!

I wouldn’t have cut my hair, bruised my eyes bound my body and left all I loved for concrete streets and poetry in bathroom stalls and on subways walls, punk shows with cigarettes for sustenance and sleeping at bonfires on beaches if I wanted anyone who would call me a pretty girl to touch me.

I am not a pretty girl.

Clothes and customs and cultures are not my definition of self.

I’d rather be defined by where I’ve been and what footprints I’ve left,

How much I’ve loved not the gender of those who hearts I kept

The art I’ve made and poems I’ve slammed

Not any words like ‘woman’ or ‘man’

I am not a pretty girl, I am not a man, I am not any of your stereotypical socio-cultural gender role necessities, my fingers and face chronically out of place but at least I can look in a mirror and know that that girlboi femme dyke love what? is me.

Reviews

[Reform69]

wow, just wow. I could feel the intensity flowing from this poem, I enjoyed it. My favorite line is "I'd rather be defined by where I've been and what footprints I've left" =D Im not a fan of being looked at based off my race so I can sort of relate to this