"boybands" poems
I used to bury myself in huge jackets.
I'd mope about and hate my curvy body,
hate the way my lips puffed,
my long hair, the way I was soft all over,
the way I was expected to shave
everything but my face.
I used to hate makeup and dresses,
girly movies and shoes and bobby pins.
I hated boybands. I hated pink things.
It took me a long time to realize that
I didn't actually hate these things.
I hated women.
Femininity was lesser. I was not good enough
because of my two X chromosomes,
because of my ***** because of my period.
I was weaker. I was stupider. I was
statistically less likely to succeed,
less likely to be important,
less likely to be loved.
These things weren't right. They were never true.
But it didn't matter, because nine-year-old me
believed them. My opinion didn't start to change
until I was thirteen and I wore a pretty dress
as a character in a home movie we were making
and I walked down the stairs and my friends
whispered whoa.
I began to understand then the power I had.
As a girl I was never lesser. I was never weaker.
Maybe physically, but that was more my personality,
and all those lies I'd told myself about success
about my importance about love
I began to reconsider.
I thought hey wait hold on
this can't be right, I'm not stupid, I'm not weak,
I'm not ugly and I'm not fat
and I'm not any of these things because
I'm a girl.
When I started to see myself as worthy of
other peoples' love, I realized I should love myself.
I don't hide my femininity away in huge jackets anymore.
I don't walk down the street fearful
of the people walking past who seem stronger.
Because in my lipstick and my cute heels,
I am in total control.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
we fall in love too easily
and fall apart faster
we love too serious
and hate much stronger
we cry over anything
especially boybands and boys
we judge other girls
with one flick of a hand
we eat too much
junk food and desserts
we sleep for too long
and hibernate on our days
we spend thousands
be it on make-up, clothes, or gadgets
all these left us drunk
we think tomorrow's hazy
how do we get sober again?
how do we face reality?
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
happiness
what is happiness
are you happy
am i happy
what is happiness
....
sunshine
flowers
palm trees
hot chocolate
warm blankets
fresh cookies
snuggling
good books
fluffy kitties
music
boybands
good friends
loving family
inside jokes
shopping
waves
sleeping
movie nights
rainbows
new shoes
cartoons
christmas time
....
thats happiness in my eyes
whats happiness in your eyes
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
Leong's watching TikTok on her laptop (as always) and she asks Lisa (a NYC girl) “Are you familiar with the the “downtown girl” aesthetic?”
Lisa’s dismissive, “Yeah, it just looks like Urban Outfitters grunge to me.”
Leong explains, “It includes headphones and it’s supposed to be a Lower Manhattan style.”
“Yeah,” Lisa snorts, “Because Greenwich Village and the Lower East Side are SO cohesive.”
Lisa considers herself an Uptown girl (like the song) even though 59th Street, where she lives, is the border between Uptown and Midtown Manhattan. I’m learning that these distinctions are culturally key to New Yorkers.
“And,” Lisa adds, “why would someone wear, and lug around, giant, clunky headphones when you can use AirPods??”
“Amen sister.” I proclaim and even Leong nods in agreement.
“Later, Sunny, Leong and I are on a study break, eating salads and talking about who we hope Yale invites to the next “Spring Fling” concert. We aren’t being realistic; we’re covering who we wish would come. I’d named Charlie Puth, “Kat-Tun!” Leong squealed (A Japanese boy band - apparently Chinese girls LOVE their boybands) and Sunny countered with Ed Sheeran.
“I don’t like Ed Sheeran,” I mumbled, making a yuck-face.
“Why no Ed?” Sunny gasps with shock (She’s a big Ed fangirl).
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “he’s a star by all measurable metrics,” I admit, “but,” I fade out.
“You want my theory on Ed hate?” Sunny offered, “He’s beyond talented vocally - whoever your favorite artist is, Ed’s probably not that far behind. He’s a stellar song writer and he’s making hit after hit; do you want my theory?”
“Too basic, too popular?” I guess.
“No, he’s not appealing to the gaze,” Sunny states.
“The gays?” Leong questions, stepping back into the conversation.
“No,” Sunny corrects, “the gaze - G-A-Z-E, he doesn’t try to look pretty all the time.”
“Ha!” I snort, “Gaze, I thought you meant gays too,” as Leong and I chuckle together.
“No,” Sunny laughs, “nothing like THAT. Ed’s just not trying to be a heartthrob, he knows that’s not his core strong point - and that’s why he’s discounted.”
“Like lesbians don’t comb their hair or wear makeup and wear pajamas to class” Leong observes, “they don’t want to attract the male gaze?”
“No, we’re not imbued by the male gaze.” Sunny states, “Ed just wants to lowkey.”
Dec 14, 2022
Dec 14, 2022 at 10:51 AM UTC
My name is Ryan
Im currently 18yrs old.
I live in a tiny country called New Zealand
Extrovert by nature
I'm happily dating someone younger than me and couldnt care less about societies opinion on her ♡
This is who I am
So I walk a little different
So I'm a little more feminine
So I'm overly charismatic
So I'm into weird things
So I'm romantic and cheesy mixed with cliché
This is who I am
So what I have almost as many photos of Korean boybands as I do my beautiful partner
So what I watch Japanese anime even though I don't speak nearly any Japanese
So what I sit inside all day and game
So what I'm a massive star wars nerd
This is who I am
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 5:42 PM UTC
the school bell rings sharply
at nine-twenty in the morning,
echoes across the classroom,
are the usual 'Selamat Pagi, cikgu'.
fast forward to nine-forty,
boring lessons and classes
requires essay crafting
and dream jobs listing,
instead, we wrote fan letters
to be the filial wives of
members from boybands
fast forward to noon,
we were hooked on stories,
from breakups of social divas
to everyone's future college plans.
those were the days,
that should never end.
fast forward to today,
it's now nine-twenty,
greetings for teachers,
are now meetings with bosses,
essays are now reports,
compadres are now colleagues.
memories are the sweet
in the word 'bittersweet',
and I'm starting
to miss the taste,
every time the clock strikes
exactly at nine-twenty.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
I always tried to explain.
"I'm sick"
"I'm sorry"
"I'm trying"
But she doesn't know. How would she? She knows boybands and finger hearts and working just hard enough.
That's not her fault (its really not) but it's easier to be angry, indignant than whatever I really am.
Her words and hate and the ever-present ether wrap around me and I can't tear them off so I go for the shirt (this is what my mother would later use as my benchmark for crazy) and the sound of tiny threads coming through tiny loops lasts a joyous second and I can breath and I am gone.
I am back and I remember that the words and hate and doom are still there and now with them is a symbol of just how wrong my self is.
I sit motionless but I'm running.
I kept the carcass for months. In a corner out of sight, to be seen but only by the trained eye.
Some days it was scolding but some days it was proof, a purple heart, a trophy of battles lost.
Some days I miss it. In my mind it's hanging from the rafters (not in the dead way). It's the retired jersey of an athlete who in the end wasn't very good but oh she tried to be.
Sep 6, 2020
Sep 6, 2020 at 3:11 PM UTC