How do I go about shedding the shells that earned me a pat on the head and a "good girl"?
I was the parent's dream, a blue-ribbon giftee of civility, the picture of obedience, and oh so mature! The 'quiet child' cachet was my only allure.
This caged bird didn't sing of sentiments and other sinful things, but spent decades nesting feelings.
When all alternatives felt illicit, I reserved my torments for exclusive exhibitions, where I held the only ticket. Those showcased, glass displays are my poems now, I've stuffed them with secrets I can't talk about, but can write down.
Do the people who raised me deserve an applause? I've got songs dancing in my head and they're the cause of my closet of flaws. Would I even have it in me if I was a happy child, bold and wild? They say art is for those who've lived in the rain; Well, I've had my cup of it and I guess, this is my exchange.
Obedience The word makes my mouth feel weird. What is it there for. It is it really there to help with discipline. Or is it there to make you a tool for society. Is to maintain you from being yourself. Or does it suppose to balance it out. I don't know at this point. While I was a kid, obedience made me a toy to society. and held me back from myself. I grew up resenting everyone who could be themselves wishing I was free. But finally I have that freedom I crave. Obedience. What is it for?
I created this poem from thinking the word obedience and this is exactly how I feel about it
good girls are not supposed to get angry or raise their voices when they argue or argue at all in the first place.
good girls are not supposed to wear ripped jeans or tight shirts or say the word “****.” good girls are not supposed to even think about *******.
and here I am, having already used the word “****” three times in this poem.
good girls are not supposed to get plastered on school nights or tipsy before classes or listen to music with the volume cranked all the way up.
good girls are not supposed to know which windows make the least noise when they’re sneaking out or know where they can buy cheap alcohol underage or know who they can kiss and where to kiss them to get what they want.
good girls are supposed to smile silently and be pure and go to church or wherever they pray to cleanse their filthy souls.
good girls are supposed to believe in and put their trust in and have faith in a god.
good girls are supposed to expect this god to keep them away from harm, and to never learn how to keep themselves safe if this god fails to.
good girls are not supposed to act anything like me.
the only thing I have ever truly believed in is poetry.
I outgrew religion by the time I turned seventeen, long before then if I’m being honest.
I never turned to prayer for advice on how to live my life.
I never turned to anyone but myself.
I only consulted the bible when I needed inspiration for some tragic poem.
good girls are not supposed to write poetry the way that I write poetry.
good girls never speak of or write about *** and drugs and violent minds and suicide and more *** and broken hearts.
good girls don’t sing along to the lyrics of sad songs in front of open windows just for the ******* sake of it.
but good girls don’t realize that life is short until it’s too late.
good girls don’t ever get to feel alive.
a girl like me who gets into trouble and refuses to stay quiet and causes a scene everywhere she goes is not a good girl.
a girl like me might be too reckless and die too young.
but a girl like me will die with no regrets and plenty of memories and so many ******* stories to tell.
a girl like me will live the life that good girls dream of, but never get to talk about.
You chase the blessing without the lifestyle, You want the power without the prayer cycle, You talk about God when you need saving, Then ignore his ways, when your ways need paving. A true believer knows we don't have to wait, Because the son came down and opened heaven's gate, God called us to reign as kings, Whoever is free in Me is free indeed. The enemy came to destroy, steal, and ****, The Son overcame Him, so we may have joy in His will. With authority comes responsibility, With the cross comes bearing. Love requires truth, And truth requires changing , So stop trying to amend God because your life needs rearranging.
Funny how soon normal creeps up on us and clears away the strangeness with each sweep of the broom.
The sky looks the same as it did, we walk, side by side, as we did. And the death toll mounts, the police checks grow
We can measure metres without a rule (though we did feet and inches when at school) We learn to use Whatsapp and Skype, just to see our families’ faces. then we disinfect our phones, wipe away the traces.
We’re told to wash our hands for twenty secs and obedience – unnatural – is what the world expects. Strangers shop for strangers and an obedient population applauds an institution on demand, at a given time
Then we go back into our houses close the windows, lockdown the doors consider the unseen enemy, and, once again,
slash their words by demanding obedience. burn them by shaming their dreams. cut them to the core by belittling their feelings - say their feelings don't matter as much as yours. the result? doubts bring them to their knees, constantly questioning others and their motives. they wonder if they're too much and not enough, if their feelings are valid. their wounds scare them into submission. authority is not an excuse for abuse. nothing is.
#escapril day 28! your feelings are valid, and you are enough.