You take these glistening wisps of hope and tear them apart into a million pieces while I cry for things that will never happen.
Why must I study my arse off for grades that will undoubtedly change my life forever, before I’m even 18?! We’re young. It’s not even humane to decide to test our intelligence this early. We need to live. We’re too young to be stressed: to be depressed. We need to focus on happiness. There’s too much going on for a young person like me. It’s not going to work. Society needs to start noticing our unhappiness. There’s too much pressure on us: not all of us are ready to face it.
So I was painting my nails. Halfway through I randomly stopped and realized I was somehow hoping to beautify my nails by rubbing coloured liquid all over it, which is pretty weird. Why are coloured nails seen as attractive?
We are all, in a way, evil. You may try to deny it. The more you help people, the harder it is for them to survive reality, because they haven’t learnt themselves. Simple things can be helped with. But life changing things like telling their boyfriend they want to break up for them? Things like that have to be done by us.
We need be courageous. We have to be fearless. After all, it’s our lives. No one should truly help us but us. If we can’t get ourselves where we want to be in life, but someone else can, it’s a bit of a weakness. You make yourself vulnerable by being in their debt, even if it’s for a short period of time.
So, one thing. We don’;t make someone’s life decisions for them. That’s their job.
I have a suspicion that teachers meet after school and swap ideas about how to torment students…
We have all had a fucked up friend at least once in our lives. Someone we loved, someone we trusted, someone who knew your secrets, but ended up as a familiar stranger. It hurts to look at them. To think of them. And not quite forgiving yourself for all the time you spent with them, when really, they would much rather you didn’t exist.
Fake friends. Bitches. Bastards. Someone that’s supposed to care. That special person/people you loved with all your heart. Let’s just take a moment: think of them. Your fondest memories, the happiness they coaxed out of you. Close your eyes, remember. Now let go of those memories. Open your eyes and be grateful that you had happiness, at least, during those bittersweet times. Thank them for teaching you not to place trust on any old bitch you see. Because these people that we hate so much teach us to value those who we can actually trust, and are sure that they will never turn away from us.
So in a way, that pain of betrayal, it was worth it. We hurt. We heal. We learn to love again. But this time, we value who can be trusted; we value everyone we love.
Just revising like the normal, panicking teenager I am ( I am SO gonna flop everything) when along comes people literally blasting the atmosphere apart with their verbal diarrhea. Seriously, people, I’m trying to REVISE! Is it so hard to just shut your mouth long enough for my brain to actually process some information that i’m desperately trying to feed it? Gosh, must you scream every word that spews from your mouth? Have you ever tried talking, ya know, like normal people? *sigh* Apparently not….and i’m the one who gets blamed when I do badly….
The thing that sucks most about being a teenager is that your emotions are completely fucked up. I mean, one minute you’d be hyper and just dancing and basically convincing everyone near you that you’re mental, even though it’s just because your in a good mood, and the next second, you’ll be staring into the mirror, crying your eyes out because life’s so unfair. The worst thing is, everyone expects you to deal with it. You’d complain and other teenagers will be like, “What do you mean? Stop being such a drama queen! Yeah, yeah, shut up. Just deal with it.” Errrr…newsflash people: we can’t all be as perfect as you make out to be. You CAN’T just tell someone who actually trusts you enough to tell you what they actually feel to get over it. It’s mean, heartless, and you just don’t do it.
I guess that’s another problem: no one can understand teenagers. Not even teenagers. Half the time, I don’t even know who I am. Are teenagers even human? Some point in every humans life, they morph into this alien bundle of hormones that no one is able to relate you…which leads into the next problem: loneliness.
Parents have all been teenagers at some point in their lives, right? Well, we’d have expected them to understand. Those people out there who actually have parents who can understand them, lucky you and all. For us less fortunate young adults…who do we turn to? Who is actually there to listen to us every time we’re experiencing that unfriendly burst of loneliness, or we just want someone to hold us and tell us it’s all going to be alright? Parents probably do do that, Most of the time. But after a while, even they become sick of it, so you end up alone. Again. Because no matter who you talk to, in the end, they will become sick of it.
Another massive, massive problem: depression. Okay, most of us are not actually depressed. It’s just the piss-taking hormones floating around inside us that make us feel so miserable. It is so important to find a way to handle these emotions. Once upon a time, I thought it was a brilliant idea to slice words and sentences along my wrist because “no one liked me, no one cares, no one wants to listen to me”. That’s not okay. Firstly, that’s your body, RESPECT IT. Seriously, you should be proud to own your body, it’s one of the things that make us so unique from everyone else in the world. Secondly, let out your emotions in a different way. If you want to talk to someone, then talk. But if you feel that you’re bothering them, or they feel bothered, just ask them. Talk to someone else. Write poetry. Write in a diary. Express it through art. Break something. Not very original ideas, I know, but hey, it’s a fuck load better that damaging your body.
I’ve kinda forgotten the point I was making. Errmm…problems with being a teenager. Yeah, those are just a few things. Personally, I think it helps to talk to someone. Even if they do hate me for it. But what’s a person to do? I simply find another person who actually appreciates the fact that I’m being honest in what i’m feeling. One last thing: don’t hang around people who obviously don’t appreciate you. You deserve to be loved. You deserve happiness. So fuck those shitheads and be the awesome person you know you are. ,
when she was 7, a boy pushed her on the playground
she fell headfirst into the dirt and came up with a mouthful of gravel and lines of blood chasing each other down her legs
when she told her teacher what happened, she laughed and said ‘boys will be boys honey don’t let it bother you
he probably just thinks you’re cute’
but the thing is,
when you tell a little girl who has rocks in her teeth and scabs on her knees that hurt and attention are the same
you teach her that boys show their affection through aggression
and she grows into a young woman who constantly mistakes the two
because no one ever taught her the difference
‘boys will be boys’
‘that’s how he shows his love’
and bruises start to feel like the imprint of lips
she goes to school with a busted mouth in high school and says she was hit with a basketball instead of his fist
the one adult she tells scolds her
‘you know he loses his temper easily
why the hell did you have to provoke him?’
so she shrinks
folds into herself, flinches every time a man raises his voice
by the time she’s 16 she’s learned her job well
be quiet, be soft, be easy
don’t give him a reason
but for all her efforts, he still finds one
‘boys will be boys’ rings in her head
‘boys will be boys
he doesn’t mean it
he can’t help it’
she’s 7 years old on the playground again
with a mouth full of rocks and blood that tastes like copper love
because boys will be boys baby don’t you know
that’s just how he shows he cares
she’s 18 now and they’re drunk
in the split second it takes for her words to enter his ears they’re ruined
like a glass heirloom being dropped between the hands of generations
she meant them to open his arms but they curl his fists and suddenly his hands are on her and her head hits the wall and all of the goddamn words in the world couldn’t save them in this moment
she touches the bruise the next day
boys will be boys
aggression, affection, violence, love
how does she separate them when she learned so early that they’re inextricably bound, tangled in a constant tug-of-war
she draws tally marks on her walls ratios of kisses to bruises
one entire side of her bedroom turns purple, one entire side of her body
boys will be boys will be boys will be boys
when she’s 20, a boy touches her hips and she jumps
he asks her who the hell taught her to be scared like that and she wants to laugh
doesn’t he know that boys will be boys?
it took her 13 years to unlearn that lesson from the playground
so I guess what I’m trying to say is
i will talk until my voice is hoarse so that my little sister understands that aggression and affection are two entirely separate things
baby they exist in difference universes
my niece can’t even speak yet but I think I’ll start with her now
don’t ever accept the excuse that boys will be boys
don’t ever let him put his hands on you like that
if you see hate blazing in his eyes don’t you ever confuse it with love
baby love won’t hurt when it comes
you won’t have to hide it under long sleeves during the summer
the only reason he should ever reach out his hand
is to hold yours
Fortesa Latifi - Boys Will Be Boys
(And Why That Is The Stupidest Thing You Could Ever Say To A Little Girl)