youre a city girl raised on
fantasy-realities of ivy leagues and
imminent success your
only scars are pimple scars
remainders of a childhood
of
vaguesuccesses.
exceptional, they call you, who were
bred and groomed for this title
talent is a spectre that haunts
you and your sibling and every
otherchild
born into that grey area between
happy and sad.
you have the world beneath your
dainty soft feet but its never
enough to bring you to the summit of
the desires (expectations) that
push down on you like
a suffocating cloud that waters your eyes
and
chokes your lungs. youre afraid to leap
up (out of sight out of mind out of the safe cradle
of a mothers wisdom and a fathers love and
the familiarity of being a tightly coiled rope ready to snap)
and into a sky where suddenly that weight is
lifted and you feel light
(the weight is comfortable, it keeps you grounded)
and perhaps
that you were moulded with
this constant belief that you [are/must be] the best is
the ________ (only/best) reason to stop yourself.
when others have problems that seem so
much grander and you in your protective bubble
that even a city cannot permeate (you ignore the sight of beggars
or thieves or poverty and avert your eyes
from anything that contradicts
the perceptions that you have, it doesnt
matter if youre in a city
plagued by pain and exploitation
as long as you can live in your (steel tinted) dreams)
you wish that you had that claim to fame (isnt it sad that
were so desperate for relevance we
selfishly wish for suffering, trading your own
trivial vices).
but you [dont understand/cant understand/will never understand]
no matter how many times you
sympathise and complain and romanticise.
youre just a pimple-scarred city girl carrying
a world of ideals and expectations on
your shoulders.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
youre a city girl raised on
fantasy-realities of ivy leagues and
imminent success your
only scars are pimple scars
remainders of a childhood
of
vaguesuccesses.
exceptional, they call you, who were
bred and groomed for this title
talent is a spectre that haunts
you and your sibling and every
otherchild
born into that grey area between
happy and sad.
you have the world beneath your
dainty soft feet but its never
enough to bring you to the summit of
the desires (expectations) that
push down on you like
a suffocating cloud that waters your eyes
and
chokes your lungs. youre afraid to leap
up (out of sight out of mind out of the safe cradle
of a mothers wisdom and a fathers love and
the familiarity of being a tightly coiled rope ready to snap)
and into a sky where suddenly that weight is
lifted and you feel light
(the weight is comfortable, it keeps you grounded)
and perhaps
that you were moulded with
this constant belief that you [are/must be] the best is
the ________ (only/best) reason to stop yourself.
when others have problems that seem so
much grander and you in your protective bubble
that even a city cannot permeate (you ignore the sight of beggars
or thieves or poverty and avert your eyes
from anything that contradicts
the perceptions that you have, it doesnt
matter if youre in a city
plagued by pain and exploitation
as long as you can live in your (steel tinted) dreams)
you wish that you had that claim to fame (isnt it sad that
were so desperate for relevance we
selfishly wish for suffering, trading your own
trivial vices).
but you [dont understand/cant understand/will never understand]
no matter how many times you
sympathise and complain and romanticise.
youre just a pimple-scarred city girl carrying
a world of ideals and expectations on
your shoulders.
a reflection on privilege.