My Name Is This



What I’ve learned in 12 days is I am that girl, and no, that is not who I want to be. No, I can’t be her. Going from forgotten, unpopular, unsure, every un in the whole goddamn book, to THAT girl. To the one everyone tries to fuck and is a bitch everyday for something she can’t control. I’m that girl who always has to be up. But yet has to be down for everything. Why is that? Is saying no so bad? It’s two letters and yet after 12 days that’s not “who I am?” What do you know, you suddenly have me memorized like a sonnet for class, you read me like Harry Potter, concrete, expected. I dress how I dress, and words in passing become law. Changes not applicable, not my prerogative, no they, you, own me now. I am that girl who has to have a reason to go to bed, tired doesn’t do shit. Crying, hiding, pretending, who made me this? Am I just your Barbie? That toy you love until boredom creeps in, and then you cut off her blonde hair, and rip her head off? I’m the one who takes your drugs and spits them out under cover of darkness. Did you see my face on a fucking police poster somewhere? Is that how you know everything there is to know? Why do you project your made up bullshit on to me? I am an assigned contact, never a new number, just a premade, alphabetized, stagnant receptacle; is there a reason? Help me understand. Did you decide I could be another rung on your climb? Maybe I’m the one who will be down for anything because at least I’m being thought of? Is that what you think I am. I am your arm candy, your Spring Breaker, your WHORE, all year round? I’m the one you’ll deign to fuck when I’m white girl wasted, and party glittered to the max. Do you also know that I have outsmarted you? That I am not at all THAT girl? You don’t see that I am the one who loves her mom, the one who is supposed to be a fucking feminist. I am that girl, and you know nothing. After 12 days you still refuse to see. I am free in your eyes, a dirty, naked doll to be dragged along for entertainment purposes only; I play along with your shit. Why? It’s a mystery why you do this, but even more why I do it. So I am that girl, the one who has to be wasted to be up to your standards, pretend gets wasted, and then am allowed to be as I am. What is that? Why? I’m apparently so Elle Woods, and yet the law degree still isn’t the focus… I have blonde hair, big boobs, congratulations, I’m that girl, obviously, how could I not be. You figured me out, no assembly instructions required.


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