When I grow up,
I want to marry
A Hollister model.

Mother says
I should reconsider.
Seriously,
Reconsider.

But deep down,
I know
that's what I want.

Because behind all of
The airbrush
The diets
The workouts
The computer enhancements
There lies,
A woman.

And on that woman,
Somewhere,
there lies
Scar tissue?
A birthmark?
Or worst of all..
A zit.

Somewhere,
On that perfect woman
There lies,
An imperfection.

And that is why I love her.

In case you haven’t realized,
Our society is constantly teeter-tottering on the border between pure brilliance and tragic defeat.
A constant struggle that has left a sour taste on the tip of common tongues and has left this nation burnt out and lazy.

Somewhere along the line,
The sparks inside of people’s bellies trickled out into a dull roar and America decided to give up.
They gave up on prosperity.
They gave up on life.
They gave up on each other.

Somewhere along the line,
The common man concluded that failure was an option and responsibility was irrelevant.
That the only essence of life lied within an 8x10 cubicle,
And it was ok to conform to a system that led us into debt,
A system that led us into war,
And a system that led us into a borderline depression.

Masses decided that indulgence was greater than integrity.
It wasn’t their responsibility to make.
A
Difference.

But, Somewhere along that same bitter line,
The burning flame that is our generation, pushed through the social sidewalk.
We began to walk,
We began to talk,
And we began to show a greater for the future than anyone could have hoped to imagine.

In the midst of a rocky start, we forgot who were.
We masked themselves in Abercrombie and Hollister
To hide the fact that we are something better then a text message,
A clique,
Or Facebook.

It became “uncool” to actually know what you’re talking about.
We filled our sentences with lots of “likes” and “you knows?”
We tend to attach an upward inflection to the end of every declarative sentence.
You know, even if it’s not like and question, you know??

On our own we learned to speak
With
Conviction.

With that conviction,
Hold your own,
Know your name,
And say what you need to say even if it makes your heart pound,
Your hands sweaty.

Simply, because we are the people of tomorrow.
It is our job to fix brainless society.
But it cannot and will not work,
Unless we know what we stand for.

There is no misconception of the work we have cut out for us.
There will be troubled times, there will be tears,
There will be hard work,
And some of us will be lost along the way.

But our story is just unfolding and we have the power to
Change
The
World.

We’ve all heard the skeptic’s tale.
Skeptical teachers,
Skeptical parents,
And nonbelievers.
Raising doubts that we are too young,
That we are too naïve,
And that we’re utterly indifferent and careless to ever be a part of something bigger than ourselves.

Well, talk is cheap.
Make no mistake that there is beauty and potential in every
Single.
One of us.
Wake up today knowing that we've made it,
Know that the time has come to start living,
Changing,
But keeping true to our hearts.

Where buses still elapse with Time
Down straight Dame Street
The Trees are satellites that allow Children to look up
and let the pavement breath.

Earthen Columns that gate the Boombox Clubhouse tint
Flanked by the Yeoman Guards of Hollister
but forget to pay the same compliment
outside of American Apparel
Where Teenagers dream out fantasies
of lamp-lit, flash-shot
worship-worthy objectification
in a converted loft in the real New York
Their headphones spring streams of bright optimism
as they cradle knitted knee-high socks.

Take the curve round Trinity College
and laugh past the rumours
that it may soon float on Dow Jones
and dodge past the charity advertisers
Strutting over campbags of sleeping homeless
to Lemon Cafe for an overpriced Mocha
Which regardless deflates the sheen-covered hollowness
of green-comfy Starbucks

and learn the subtleties of speaking lightly
to dark-jaceketed Blonde girls
Whose eyes seem to sparkle "Yes, we have sipped
on Veuve Clicquot at reserved tables on Graduation nights
at Cafe En Seine"
-"Where Oscar Wilde might have drank"
- "..Had he been alive."

Then speculate on the best Festivals and whose
Films and Books are over-hyped and under-appreciated
and the after-College Gossip on who broke-up or stayed together
or who hooked up even though they shouldn't have
or regretted it

and who's doing a paid internship and who's moving abroad

and afterwards charmingly tease their superficial attitudes
as meanwhile they secretly take photos
to upload on Instagram
and later you'll fake-admonish them
for how they did this behind your back
while you were staring into the lake
in St. Stephen's Green.

When the moon no longer glazed the water
and had receded its contrast to the farthest grass
and you decide to take the last bus home.

Throughout
Caution Glints The Vowels
and Brands them too.

"i love you, but i can't do this right now.
i need a break to think.
we can try again in a bit."

Do you know how stupid that is?
You don't get to pick and choose when to be with me.
You don't get to wait 'til it's easier and less stressful.
Life will always be stressful,
and love is never easy.
I guess I should have expected this,
from a boy who still likes Hollister.

I hate to see the life
you've created without me
because I don't think I've
created one without you

I could smell your polo cologne from a mile away…

It wasn’t an overpowering smell but I knew it was coming
Even before I could smell it
I can still remember walking to the shower and passing by your room
Fumes drifting out like the vapor in a Hollister doorway
Only the dark clothing store was never as inviting as your room
Not in a comforting way, like a quaint house or camp fire invites you closer
                But in the way that apple invited Eve
   As if to say… “I dare you”

I will never hear jingle bells the same
Or be able to listen to Mac Miller without your voice singing in my head
Because it was so annoying having you loudly sing at the side of my head
But now it’s quiet, too quiet
Your croaking voice isn’t mutilating the symphony of car horns and street noises any more
I realize now however I preferred the musical chaos of having you hang out with me

This is not a love poem
This is a…
This is an…
This is an I guess I know how I feel too late poem
An I guess I should have said this poem

But without the absence of something we often don’t realize what it meant to us

You’re gone…
Not dead, you didn’t leave me, not a dramatic departure
You were forced to move
Due to your own stupid actions

After all I guess it was me who told you the reason to stay in a certain place can’t be a person

I would eat my words in my sleep if I could, because my common logic won’t allow it
but in my dreams I will; in my dreams I have a hopeless side of me, not counting every tick in a day to make sure it still runs the same as all the others, unlike the waking me does

But when I wake up those words still hang in the air and I realize they were best left said anyways

I think I wish I had said good bye
But with one too many letters un-replied to, I wouldn’t know how to say it
Because I don’t know which you to say good bye to
The you sitting in the hall with me at midnight
                The you who’s face drifts a little too close to mine
The you who can cry and admit he isn’t perfect
The you who knocks over stuff and makes a mess when we are cooking
The you who holds a stapler over his chest saying “dare me”
The you pretending he doesn’t know me
Or the one pretending that he hates me
I saw your many faces and don’t know which one to say goodbye to

So it’s probably best no good bye was said at all but I still feel unresolved
You stick to me, like a burr or a thorn
This feeling that I could have done more
I could have told you how beautiful you were so you wouldn’t try too hard to fool people into thinking it
Because your price tags and diet made you look appealing to some but not me

No… I was drawn to your eyes and how they always match your shirt
Your chipped tooth framed in your goofy smile
The laugh that escaped your nervous lips as you say something I know you don’t tell most people

I wish I could have told you it was going to be okay:
You would be okay if you learned who you was
It would get better if you stopped trying so hard
You can’t help your ****** orientation so you need not hide
You don’t have to hate yourself because you think some people hate you
Because some people didn’t and you made them want to try…

In ways I was an improved vision of yourself
And you were an improved vision of myself

If only I could run the football field, be attractive, be cool
Have people wanting me and wanting to be me
If only you were confident in who you were, able to sing, dance and express yourself,
Have people trust you and see that you aren’t afraid of judgment

But I’m not you and you aren’t me, I smell like trees and you smell like Polo
I am not afraid of myself, and you are
I try to be honest and you try to be someone else
I am still standing here and you aren’t…

Senior year filled with bliss
Senior year full of lists
life lessons we've all learned
no Qur'an to be burned

acceptance and tolerance is taught
things we ought not do
and things we ought to

skipping classes oh what fun
getting lots of essays
never done enough
We've all got pretty tough
after four years time
spent on
homework
friends
experiencing life
is defiantly sublime

getting ready for the future
yet we still cant see the whole **** picture
kind of nervous
kind of scared
at the end of the year
when we'll really see who really cared
to be true friends til the bitter end
through all our ups and all our downs
clean out the friend list
get ready for the plunge

each day is another last
memories we shall forget
names that used to have purpose
are now found meaningless

find a purpose
find a place
society dictates
this is our anthem
that although times are bad
working is all you have

each election getting meaner
every day a little harder
HOPE MY ***
this is all a clever lie

high school teaches us so much
yet none is remembered
none is obtained
vague concepts taught to the blind masses
When will the people learn?

To STAND UP
Stand up against corruption
and illegal government spending-WHOOPS
guess that was left outta the text books

Stay civil
stay sane
Follow the "American culture"
Eat fat
stay thin
this is hypocrisy we now live in

Vote for Republican
Vote for Democrat
doesn't matter in the end
they are the same
Abercrombie and Fitch
VS
Hollister
Same brand
different label

Don't you see?
Can't you see?
This hypocrisy....
is real
as real
as you
or Me

End of line

I always make friends with homeless people. Maybe it’s the *** stained teeth and friendly personalities that draws me too them. When I’m in town you can find me with laughing people, who hold nothing to their being by the end of the day. I love them. They’re so happy, grateful and remind me of everything I want to hold in my heart. They are the sun, surrounded by dark clouds but still radiating through the grey. The public of Surrey in their white designer tops and overpriced jeans will never realize this. Call me a sucker but I would give everything to these people. The friendlier they are the more they deserve it. They always seem to be the ones who have been in their situation for the longest and have tried every method of getting the necessities we indulge on. The saddest, and grittiest are usually new to their world. It’s such a cool world mind. All of them sing punk music, create such beautiful art and tell the most interesting woven stories. They are deep. Very deep. They have been to one end and back, up and down. Being surrounded by these people can be dangerous at times mind. One day I could be engulfed by a dark crowd. By dark I mean, what parents and young teens imagine when they think about going out to the grungy parts of town; the stereotypical stench of creepy men glowing with peoples fear of them. Rapists, *** traffickers, hard-core drugs, drunk men breathing down your neck and pulling roughly on your arm. I’ve been kissed on the cheek by a drunken dark mess, but he soon got punched by another. They respect people consent, children and females of any age. I don’t care if it’s a sexist old age thing for men to feel protective over women. Women are the most scared when regarding this world. I was scared. It was only a kiss on the cheek but that could lead on to so much more if left to slide. That’s why he got punched. You don’t cross boundaries. It’s the same with any person; have or have not. At the end of the day, I find the characters with scruffy attire and a perfume of ****, cigarettes and beer more comforting and safer than those who breed Topshop, Topman, Hollister Apple and Urban Outfitters. I am the kid all parents would fear to let out on their own. And they should. I’m going to get myself in trouble one day, talking to strangers and hanging around gritty areas alone. But it’s better than when I used to shoplift. And anyway…I feel a lot happier after I hang round these people.

The greatest mistake we make is teaching our children that monsters are not real
They are, but not in the way we imagine them
They do not hide under our beds
Do not even look like what we've been taught was evil, can't even see what is lurking
Inside of their heads
Movie villains are easily spotted in all black, ***** and cackling
The things that hide in the dark are not demons
I know
You're not a monster, you're a human just like me
Easy to pity because we both cry and bleed
You are not a monster
But you have seeped into my veins like poison
It does not matter who I am with
You will rise like the ocean and swallow me until I can't breathe
Wrapped in the arms of a lover
I freeze
His hands are not his hands his teeth are not his teeth
They are the hunters
They are yours
I know you're nothing but a ghost now
It's only the shadows of memory that seize me
But i'm back in that room and the door is locked
And I am locked and I am trapped
by hungry stares and greedy hands
Prowling like a lion and I am the prey tonight
Shouldn't have let the wolf inside
But you were dressed as my friend in an Abercrombie shirt and Hollister jeans offering what I thought was a comforting hand
But I am locked in your claws and they tear through my clothes
So I use the only defense left to me
The last resort mother nature provides
I play dead
Hoping my frozen body will somehow deter you
Turned off every light in myself one by one
The city in a power outage
Stepped out of my body like a ghost
Cold and unknowing
Hide from myself the way you cover a small child's eyes
so they wont see the ******
But pretending not to see it will not save you
Warning signs are there for a reason
Trigger warning trigger warning
I ignored all of the flashing signs
Why would I guard myself against someone I claimed to be like a brother?
Blind-sighted
Thrown off the cliff and your arms drag me down like an anchor
I am already dead
Wishing I could drown not even bothering to hold my breath
Your smile used to be so inviting but now your eyes are loaded guns and your teeth are like knives waiting to tear me to shreds
And I cannot run and I cannot hide
My body is mine my body is mine my body is mine
I know that he is not you
But you could be anyone
And in a way you already are
Because 77% of rapes are committed by someone the victim knows
And in a survey of college men 51% said that they would **** a woman if they knew they would not be caught
All the voices are yours
Telling me that I must have wanted it, because "Look at what i'm wearing."
Every shadow following me
Still hunting me as I walk to my car at night
Always prey as I look behind my shoulder every two seconds like a twitch
And I run so I can get there before you do
Every time
Before you can climb in like you did before
"No" was a word you could not comprehend, could not understand
But if dogs can learn it and listen then so can you
You were not entitled to enter my car, my house, my bed or my body and especially not my soul
I do not desire your attempts at worship
Will not let you take off my pants so you can
"Make me feel like a real woman"
I am fire burning every place your hands have touched
My body is not a piece of meat to be sacrificed on an altar
Not yours for the taking
I am a temple, a sanctuary
And you are not my God.

I stagger cold through the halls of my indoctrination.
I do not wish to be seen.
A thousand ******* eye's gawk silent from there checker pattern perches
and my chains and prizes jingle
and attract stares
with each bounding step.
I can no longer stand my hours in this house of heresy.
Loose lipped **** lovers
spill secrets over bile chowder
chuckling about a days delicacies
and social secrets.
Second rate at best,
they all know there lover boy on the Hollister bag
probably takes it in the *** more than the average ***
and still they swoon blind batty eyed at the queens that prance the halls.
I am unamused
Feel abused
giving out my finest hobby to any takers.
I'm being used.
How am i supposed to ******* death sweet and smokey at this rate.
Like some fluff tailed hair
I hustle off with my ticking life in toe
the numbers at my waste spell ruin.
I'm late.
I'm late.
If only I had some red haired queen of hearts
to behead me.
A better fate.

Circle, circle
Evil and monotonous
Everyone around here does the same **** thing
Day after day
Sit in a cubicle
Make babies, program them to be
Your little robots
To grow up to be
Real life mean girls
Or homophobic jocks
The kids whom you could only hope to be
Or the ones you hated.
Living in a world
Where no teenager needs to work
Everyone gets what they want
Daddy can buy you a car, a house, college
The whole **** world, have it your way
You buy drugs, throw huge parties
Because you can
Your sense of entitlement sickens me to the core
So when someone different comes along
Someone who isn't on the "Barbie Diet"
Someone who doesn't wear heavy makeup, or Hollister size double zero
Someone who doesn't live in a palace
Someone who has to work if they want things
Other than necessities
How do you respond?
Shun, backstab, gossip
Wishing they would care
At least, that is what I have experienced
In the magical world of Suburbia

My clothes are ripped.
      their not Hollister or aeropostale.
Their not designer.
       I can't afford that.
My parents are not rich.
       I don't go to Florida on vacation every summer.
I don't have a phone, laptop, iPod or all that.  
       I'm happy with 2 crayons and paper.
If I'm lucky,
       that's all I get.

As he paces,
his heart races.
A thousand unknown faces
fill his head and he amazes
himself that he still gets so annoyed;
so sickeningly distraught
at the thought of other boys
using her as their toy.
A one-off meeting,
A nervous smile and fleeting glance
at her red lips.
A brush of the fingertips.
A passionless kiss.
But a story nonetheless
of the girl in the tight dress
who you managed to impress
at that birthday party.
You were both a bit of a mess,
but who even cares?
It's a part of growing up:
Tongue to tongue and have a ****
of his face.
Please enjoy, Lady Ace,
the sentiment and the grace
of the young 'innocence' that still dismays
the one who actually cared.
Who actually stared
into your eyes for something deeper.
Something warmer and true
Someone in love with you,
with a dream for every day
and an endless desire to play
with your hair as well as your *** -
who cares and shares in your sass,
with kisses born from more than a crass
lad with his Hollister shirt on
and a wallet stuffed with hopeful condoms.

yappin' and yappin'
you're such a bore.
I've heard better stories
from a Tiajuana *****.

That hole between your lips
with a tongue that won't stop
had better not get spit
on my Hollister tank-top.

My little sister had become an entitled *****. Her thirteenth year had brought terror on us all. I can't really complain, however; I had been the same way at thirteen and fourteen. It's funny how I act like I'm so much older and more mature now. At almost fourteen, I was having *** and sneaking around and I'm still doing that. However, I was in the god-awful scene phase of my life, not that we haven't all been there with the clip-in colorful extensions and the emo band tees. My sister is in the slutty Hollister model phase of her life. I feel like we all go through on or the other, or if you're lucky enough you go through both. My body type was always bustier and hippier than any Abercrombie model that I had ever seen.

My dad and I had always **** heads. It flares up when my mom isn't around to be the peacemaker. Even when she is home, we still argue frequently, and we take a lot of low blows at each other. Yet he also expects me to be perfect. He's always been on my case about my weight, my friends, my clothes, my hair, my personality...I can barely breathe around him.  Nothing I do is good enough for him and frankly, I've stopped trying to please him.

And me? Well, I'm just the black sheep, the dark horse, the family **** up. The **** up who isn't all that smart, in school or in life. The **** up who can't lose weight, and who takes the heat for the fact that majority of her family is overweight. The **** up who gets blamed for confrontation she gets into with her sister. The **** up who can't play sports and is just plain clumsy. The **** up who can carry a pitch, but will never be a star. The **** up who can't cook, dress or act right. The **** up who will never honor her family. The **** up who's always been subpar in every area of life. The **** up who has nothing to offer the world.

I.
I don't idolize famous people
I like some of them, I even love some of them,
But I don't really get it.

Here's someone who I am allowed to know,
If I have the right sources.
And if I have a lot of the right sources,
for one shining moment that I will never forget,
They will know me, and forget me.

It's none of my business, whether they want it or not.
But a famous person doesn't love me or need me.

I know people love famous people, and that's good.
I like that, I like unconditional positive regard based
on a display of talent, artwork, or whatever it is.

I know they change lives.

I know my life has been changed by many people, famous or not.

People I love, especially.

And I am haunted by how much my life has been changed by girls who I have been attracted to. Who I have been in love with.
Some of them thought they were in love with me, but my conclusion is that that was an incorrect assessment.

Feelings change, but mine haven't. I wish they would, yeah, love is not equal in that way.

I would do anything for either of my ex-girlfriends and I still love them so much and I am so proud of them, because they're amazing!

It's over and that's good. Since it's good, why do I still need to love them? Is there a function for that?

Should I idolize celebrities instead?
Do you?
Do you hate all of your ex's for breaking your hearts, or cheating on you, or mistreating you, or dumping you?
Or do you love them? Do you really love them and hope they are one hundred times happier now than they ever were with you?
Are you like me?
Or am I different?

II.
I remember walking into Hollister.
I wanted the brightest t-shirts with the biggest letters across them.
I wanted to be "cool".

I was shy, I was reserved.
I was fitting in, while cracking out of a shell.

Everyone learns to poke holes in the shell that are big enough so that people can identify you, so that you can express yourself within the confines of what is socially acceptable.

Then you have the big hole in your shell, in the back, where nobody sees. Late at night, sometimes, around people you love, you crawl out of the shell and say "This is me! This is my religion, politics, desires, semblance of hope, semblance of confidence."

If you fully emerge from the shell and shed your shame,
and fight to hold yourself back, who are you?
Who do you think you are?
Do I know you?
Are you telling me all of this because you're some kind of desperate freak?

I love myself and it's just that I can't be ashamed anymore.
It's full throttle, it's heart on the sleeve, it's love!
It's I love you! And I love this life! And I need that.
I need that.

I don't want a shell. I want wings and a tidal wave.
Are you like me?
Or am I different?

III.
I sometimes look up when I walk around.
I don't put headphones in, I like to hear what's happening,
And I secretly hope someone will say my name to get my attention and I will hear them.

But! I love music so much, especially rap music.
It's so emotional that is has shaped who I am and my views and understandings of life.

When I walk around, I play the music in my head, silently.

It says things like,
"I've seen it happen, I see it happen, I see it always.
I still be screaming, I see his demons in empty hallways."

"Keep all your dreams, keep standing tall.
If you are strong, you cannot fall.
There is a voice inside I saw,
So smile, when you can."

"When the four corners of this cocoon collide,
You'll slip through the cracks hoping that you'll survive.
Gather your wit, take a deep look inside,
Are you really who they idolize? To **** a Butterfly."

Instead of, "I want you. I need you. Please love me. Am I ugly?
Do I look horrible today? Am I being judged? Am I developing a negative reputation and becoming a social pariah? Is that good?
Are you all better off without me?"

I love music, but in censors my thoughts by haunting me every day.
Should I stop it and let the fear sink in and steer into the skid and embrace what my mind has for me, behind the musical curtain?
Is that why everyone wears headphones in public?
Are you like me?
Or am I different?

IV.
I love people so much, I want to love people for my whole life.
I hope I can help someone, somewhere, someday.
That's all I want.
I don't want to expect anything, or ask for anything, because I've been down that road and it made me annoy people I love until they turned on me.
I want a family, and to be in love, not in that order.
But how?
Are you like me?
Or am I different?

I wish you didn't grow up feeling like you had to compromise yourself
Remember the first time you waxed your eyebrows?
Why was your immediate reaction to pick up a pair of tweezers and pluck all those thick hairs off your face?
Was it because the girls you went to school with had thin arcs above their eyes?
How could eyebrows make a person feel self-conscious?
I wish you didn't grow up feeling like you HAD to be like everyone else
The push-up bras from Victoria Secret your mother would never let you buy
The light wash Hollister jeans every middle schooler wore
The makeup from MAC featured on the faces of the popular girls in school
These were all things you grew up obsessing over
But instead, you settled for the bras from Target
25% off sale
The jeans from GAP and Old Navy
The makeup from Marshalls, your mom, bought for you
You looked at it with such disappointment
She couldn't understand why you needed all those things
When she asked if you liked what she bought for you  
You put on a half-assed smile and responded
"Si Mami, gracias."
…
She wouldn't understand
…
At the back of Ms. Pinero's math classroom
You sat alongside two boys
When they asked where you were from
You told them
"El Salvador"
There were no follow up questions
Just a couple of laughs and nudges between them
"Say something then."
You complied
Another round of jaw drops and claps
As if speaking in your native tongue deserved a standing ovation
"That is so ****."
Yes, a 14-year-old sexualized due to a couple of phrases spoken in a language foreign to the rest
As the bell rang, you walked out and right behind you could be heard the words:
"I should've known you were Latina."
You watched as their eyes undressed you, followed by the cue of stares from other classmates in the hall
But this is what you wanted, right?
Validation and acceptance?
Tell me then, why did their commentary unsettle you so much?
…
Mornings you walked into the school cafeteria with friends
The anxiety you felt pulsating through your body as you passed the assistant principal
His eyes had a tendency of wandering
But all was excused because he had a daughter and a wife
As if raising a child refrains one from being a machista
As if his presence in the lunchroom didn't suffocate and intimidate the rest of us
But we held our tongues
"It's not that big of a deal."
Girls learn to live their lives with the use of this phrase at their convenience
…
You lived your middle school years abiding by the "likability rule."
Convincing yourself if you remained
Gentle
Quiet
Selfless
Submissive and Obedient
You could escape the policing of your body and tongue
If you, a girl was deemed likable, you could avoid the pain others repeatedly succumbed to
Your high school years you burned those vices
And in turn, you became what society refers to as "the difficult girl."
Loud
Confrontational
Self-aware
Rebellious
Or in the term others would coin you as:
A *****
…
When your body began to mature
You weren't the only one to notice
You can recall the days you walked into school
Receiving looks of disapproval
And you watched
As other girls walked by, wearing something just like you  
How quickly those same eyes looked the other way
And it was then you learned that your voice wasn't the only disturbance for the public
So was the shape of your body
All the qualities your mother told you to embrace
You grew to hate
As if you had the decision to control the rate at which your body developed
…
The days you spent as the new kid
Living in the background noises of immigration control jokes
"Haha, you didn't get deported?"
No *******, I did not.  
You played it off like it didn't matter
But it did.
Deep down, you know it did.
No amount of comedic "genius" could drown out the ignorance of those boys
…
In the tenth grade
Rumors spread of someone's photoshop skills
Even as I write this to you, I can sense the discomfort in the room
Why didn't we fight harder for those girls?
Why did YOU hear about what happened and settle with the prevalent fact that "boys will be boys"?
Is that a justification for ****** behavior?
Why didn't we encourage them to be better?
You worried about those girls, and you wondered whether they told themselves the same thing you told yourself four years ago
"It's no big deal."
…
When the spotlight shone upon your friend
Humiliated by a rich narcissist
You stormed with remarkable fury to the counselor's office demanding justice
In the face of your triumph and efforts you were told
"Sweetie, there isn't much we can do."
But there was…
There was so much more that could've been done
The score settled 0-1
Down the hallway you remember your friend with the rusted orange curls
Cheeks and neck spotted red with rage after finding out the truth
You both saw the events unfolding
No punishment enforced
No threat ensued
Merely another instance of a boy's ****** behavior excused
…
Now,
Hearing your little sister tell you of the boys in her class who make fun of her
You do your best to ensure her it's no indication they like her
Because if they did, they would bestow respect upon her rather than insults
You spot those boys in the halls and you glare at them
Letting your presence be known
If things get worse, you'll be the one to handle them
…
Your mother's annual Thanksgiving party
And among the guests featured around your dinner table is the authentic macho
A true family man who adheres to respect, strength, and the protection of his family
When he asked you of your future plans
He displayed a face of amusement rather than one of seriousness
As if your capacity for success is determined by what lies in between your legs
When you stood your ground and fought for yourself
He put his hand out in a gesture to stop with the words
"Okay, okay, there's no need to be sensitive."
He turned to ask your mother with a degrading laugh
"Is she always like this?"
To which you responded, "Yes."
And his words fell short of sexist comebacks
You took a nice long look at his wife
Who did all she could to avoid eye-contact with you
…
You grow up being told to be proud,
But be so in a way that doesn't cast a spotlight on you
Be driven,
But not so much you intimidate the rest
Strive to be competitive,
But refrain from showing teeth, or you'll scare away the competition
Fight for your right,
But don't incriminate anyone else while doing so
Wear what you want,
But for the love of God please don’t wear that
Address your concerns,
But don’t be so emotional about it
…
You've lived your life with endless restraints on who you should and shouldn't be
I wish you had torn through those norms earlier
I wish you refused to settle for less all those years ago
Here you are
Reading this,
Let the world know it is not entitled to change you
Let the people know you are not limited to a figure of gratification that lives to please the rest
…
You were born to raise hell
Don't you ever be quiet about it
…
-c.alejandra