strwberrykween

[strwberrykween]

im going insane.

is it cute? am i going insane cutely? am i pretty when i cry? do my eyes get greener? i hope my eyes get greener, not with envy, because im totally a girls girl but in a cute, pretty way. im just like the other girls though, don't worry, because we're all going insane in a cute way. breakdown-core, menty b-core, tearing apart my skin until i bleed-core. it's so girlhood of me, so teenage girl, so cute.

my insanity is so aesthetic. my mascara runs softly and my lip quivers but doesn't tremble and i totally don't get puffy because ew gross. it's much better than that. i eat basically a whole cake to myself because im so funny, im so quirky, im so insane. my lips taste sweet and the frosting sticks to my skin but the cake doesn't stick to my waist.

when i can't breathe my heart pounds but in a fluttering butterfly kind of way, in a way that radiates a gorgeous pink glow, and absolutely never in a way that makes me think im having an aneurysm. all i need is for someone to relate, for someone to coo and praise me for being sooo brave. this must be such a difficult time. you can't imagine what im going through. im breaking the stigma. #bekind #mentalhealthmatters #suicideawareness but i can't actually want to die because that's so crazy.

im not crazy, no way. and that's such a stigmatised word, we've normalised it too much, and it's actually offensive for me to use it. im just a little quirky, i just need a straight jacket and a tub of ice cream and to maybe cut my bangs again because my intrusive thoughts made me. it's so difficult dealing with it. you absolutely have no idea.

am i doing it right? when i bite my lips is the scabbing skin unappealing to you? is the acne on my cheeks ruining the vibe? am i ruining the vibe? am i a buzzkill? omg no, im literally just an introvert, im just a girl, im just totally above all of this socialising shit because im being really brave and honest with my feelings and i just need to distance myself. im out of my people pleaser era. its girlhood to grow up too early, to be adultified, and im unlearning those patterns.

#charactergrowth #generationaltrauma #girlbossera. haha no don't take me away. im okay, honestly, it's just a phase. it's just a trend. it's just a part of life. haha ignore those scars. haha ignore that. ignore me. don't talk to me. don't look at me. don't look at me when i cry and my eyes don't get green but they get red. don't look at my trembling lip. don't look at my puffy, mascara stained skin. im just a girl. im just going insane. this is totally normal. im totally normal, in a cute, aesthetic kind of way.

[strwberrykween]

girls get killed for their power. we are killed for our beauty, for our autonomy, for our intelligence.

the world punishes what they dislike, and there is nothing that history hates more than women. helen is blamed in troy, but is it truly her beauty that coaxed the wooden horse or the greed of powerful men? boys who could not settle for a no and felt so entitled to a woman's body that they would rather fight for a decade than listen to a word she says?

achilles tortured briseis, and yet he remains the hero, the brave warrior who fought despite the fundamental flaw of his heel. it doesn't matter if the woman he held captive was bleeding and crying, because history erases her. they favour the heroes. and women are hardly ever heroes. we forget athena guides odysseus and we forget that cassandra was right all along, we just remember apollo and his heartbreak.

and so the girls get killed. slowly. we hate helen for the war she caused, we hate athena for her flaws fed to us through a male dominated narrative, we forget cassandra and briseis in favour of the exciting world of mythical soldiers and gods who chase girls into trees and kill boyfriends with their discus.

history kills girls. 'she' becomes his wife, his main support. he couldn't have done it without her. all of his late nights, and all of the meals she prepared and love she unwillingly gave. he couldn't have done it without her, but she did it without him. he just stole her diary and published it, taking the money for his own, paying for sex from women who had no other choice. we know this, but we keep his name on the title, and it's only after thorough research that you learn who 'she' is.

we burn women at the stake because of unfounded rumours and fears of their abilities. we use their bodies as weapons of war and only think of the bombs and brave veterans. we force little girls into marriage and complain when women ask to not be drugged when they leave the house for the night.

girls get killed for walking home. girls get killed for breaking up with their boyfriends. girls get killed for... well, just because. we are born with girlhood in our blood and somewhere along the way we've forgotten what it means.

girlhood isn't just pink and bows and skincare in pastel packaging. it isn't just gossip over an overpriced latte we buy every day.

girlhood is the arsenic in our tampons and the rape threats in our comment sections. girlhood is being a bitch for having self-respect and being an easy target when you're too scared to say no, even when they're approaching you with a wild wolf-like grin with the claws to match.

girlhood is the anger we are raised with. girlhood is being told to smile more, being told you run too slow, being told to run faster to escape the wolves. girlhood is not being strong enough to carry the chairs, girlhood is being the unwilling babysitter, girlhood is being told to cover up, girlhood is being told that you shouldn't have worn that skirt and then the wolf wouldn't have struck. girlhood is choosing the bear, because they don't play with their food.

girlhood is helen. it's her beauty and fear and the blame she has carried for millennia. girlhood is briseis. it's her story and shame and the voice she never had the chance to use. girlhood is athena and her wisdom and cassandra and her knowledge and those uncredited wives who saved the world and didn't even have their names printed.

girls get killed for existing incorrectly. history hides their ghosts and burns their stories just like they burnt the witches at the stakes.

feminine rage runs through my blood, and i will keep it that way until i die. for her. for all of the girls.