God, that makes me SO happy to hear. Thank you so, so much.
So, maybe we’re the
generation of the selfie,
but we’re also the generation
that grew up in a tainted,
with every impossible beauty standard
shoved down our throat
through a tube
because eating has become
a guilty pleasure
and condemning beauty ideals
won’t go straight to our thighs.
And if, by chance,
we are able to destroy the
demons that you’ve planted
inside of us with your
constant advertisements and rules
that play behind our eyelids and
take root in our brains,
then let us take our fucking pictures
and capture that moment when
we felt beautiful because all this world
has taught us is that
our beauty is the greatest
measure of our worth.
Scoff at our phones all you like,
these delicate extensions of
our fingers, but know that
through this technology
that you couldn’t even
begin to understand,
we have smudged the entire
world with our fingerprints.
We are the generation of knowledge,
and we are learning more than
any that came before us.
So, frown at my typing fingers;
I am using them to grasp power
by the throat.
Try to invalidate us,
but we’ve heard our
parents talking about
the world’s crashing and burning
since we had sprung from the womb.
We know you’ve fucked up,
and we’re angry about it-
the kind of anger that
that I feel in my veins every time
I read the news from my phone
that sticks in my throat like honey
in a debate;
the kind of anger that simmers,
that sharpens teeth into daggers,
that makes this generation more dangerous
than you could have ever imagined.
We are the generation of change,
and goddammit, we’re coming.
Ever since he left me in silence,
I’ve found it harder and harder
to love myself,
as if I was Sisyphus almost to the
top of the mountain,
this heap of trying not to drown
in my sea of self-loathing,
only to have him trip me up
and laugh as I crashed back at rock bottom,
which had finally stopped feeling like home.
It’s fucked up, isn’t it?
Months of healing lost,
simply because an angry boy
with eyes like knives turned
his affection to the next shiny girl
whom he could sink his teeth into.
Was I a victim of his poison
or of my own?
I tried to fill myself with his
empty words and fragile promises,
when I should have been trying to
to meet my own eyes in the mirror
and to tape up the fault lines
in my skin
before I tried to keep a boy
with wandering hands inside.
And so it begins again:
a girl reborn.
Oh my god, this is was of the loveliest things I’ve ever heard. Thank you so much!
I remember it like this:
sometimes I hated myself,
I despised something growing
dark and cruel and
twisting itself around my lungs.
And when I talked about death, it was never
myself I wanted to kill,
it was that monster
that had lodged itself in my chest,
that had devoured my heart and made
a home in its place.
But that creature was deceiving.
I convinced me we were mirror images
and I was born of it and it was born of me,
and if I wanted to shove a dagger into its gut,
I had better be prepared to mop up my own blood.
These were the days of
swallowing glass and
fearing the night and
“Momma, I don’t want to do it anymore.”
These were the days of
empty stares and
“How do I kill something made
completely of me-
of my doubts and
fears and every
secret desired I buried in my throat?”
I tried to drown the demon,
to medicate it away
and still it chewed at my bones,
those fragile puzzle pieces
barely holding me together.
Until the day I forgave myself-
forgave myself for the wasted nights and
missed opportunities and
all the fucked-up messes smudged
with my fingerprints.
It wasn’t a conquering, but it was a beginning.
I had forgotten how it felt to breathe.
Thank you so much!
This is so lovely to hear! Thank you so, so much!
Oh my god, I’m getting all weepy! Thank you so, so, SO much.
That’s fine! Just credit it to Emily Palermo.