#the tragedy of girlhood

[m1ssnovember]

[normalfem]

Actually girlhood is being obsessed with a specific historical tragedy when you were like 9

[poutycowboy]

it’s hard being a lover girl in a world full of evil men

[mothstiel]

saturn by sleeping at last always makes me ugly sob as a destiel fan. wym "with shortness of breath you explain the infinite / how rare and beautiful it is to even exist" and "how the universe was made / to just be seen by my eyes" !!>?>?!>?!>?!!!!>?!>!?!?!?!?!??!.

[m1dn1ghtzz]

vacation type shi

[comfied-chriterature]

BSD Manga Spoilers

And she didn't even get to leave a body behind :(

[ghibli-ing]

tragic, honestly. newsletter out now 🤍

[dirhwangdaseul-archived]

idk if i have stated in so many words before but kinda weird for people not to care about the brown men of the story on account of them being men

like most people did to javi irl what the yellowjackets did in the show lol, dismissed always, no more than the little kid, he was already dead

[kdramamilfs]

[bunny-ear-lovergirl]

Bows and scars

My gender is a broken doll

Girlhood, summer time

Holy water, best church clothes

Ribbons stained with blood, reflected by smashed church windows

Alcohol bottles, cigarettes from the road

Abandoned americana

The tragedy in girlhood, the loss of youth

[weirdgirlraging]

[m1ssnovember]

🥀

[sandmark]

tag post.

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[kuroochako]

actually i identify as “a bad liar with a savior complex”, “argumentative antithetical dream girl”, “just a girl in her room trying to forgive herself”, “my mother’s child”, “monster on the hill, too big to hang out”, “mirrorball”, “the archer”, “no one sees when you lose when you’re playing solitaire”, “my poor parents’ teenage daughter”,

[cainvstheworld]

Draft Dodger by Cain Birch

Thank you for all the love on my last poem btw <3

[Text ID: Draft Dodger by Cain Birch. I am a man by most means, mediums, measures. But the law leaves me out; it doesn’t want my boots on the ground, doesn’t recognize my manhood. I’m grateful: that there is no slim chance, no open window or cracked door, that I’ll be shipped off to murder, boxed up to butcher. I skirted the tragedies of boyhood, the relentless teasing and awkward boners, the fistfights and choked-back-down tears. The guilt rains down heavy, like endless rounds of gunfire, that I got off easy, that my knuckles never bruised. I huddled in wait for my moment, patient sniper on the battlefield, my weapon my needle, my ammo my medicine. My target was camouflaged in a sea of crew cuts. The boy bestowed me his boots and haircut; I blessed him with an exit wound the moment I came of age. The guilt dies with the memories that rush thick and fast: phantom knives ripping through my abdomen, rape whistles for Christmas, a self-defense class that taught me how to bring a man to his knees when he palms your breast. Girlhood was a battlefield, and there was no draft. /End ID]