(mo[u]rning routine of a good girl)

Fri, 01/16/2015 - 00:51 -- abyss

Every morning, instead of makeup

I lather on my lips little white lies

that will placate instead of inflame a sore spot

and smear around my eyes pointed reminders

not to betray too much sarcasm

and paint a smile on my face:

because good girls should not leave the house without it.

 

This is a country founded on the ideals of freedom

but like everything we say, that is a lie.

Freedom of speech is not welcome here.

We are a land of political correctness to the point of sickness,

of sweet little nothings nothing more than saccharine,

too afraid of the elephant in the room

that every day grows bigger,

feeding on our ignorance.

 

We skirt around issues

thinking that if we ignore them they will go away

thinking that we are solving the world’s problems

without knowing what they truly are.

Our honey tongues trap more than flies:

Oh, isn’t that nice?

 

And anyone who dissents is quickly quieted down

Anyone brave enough to speak her mind

to defend what she believes in

to maybe change the status quo

is a fool, I tell you.

A fool.

This is a country founded on the ideals of freedom.

Fool.

No, masks are safer here.

 

but sometimes the mask cracks

sometimes the paint washes off

sometimes the filter breaks

 

Without filters, I am

loud and cheeky and impudent

(and completely unapologetic),

not afraid of speaking my mind:

an obnoxious fire engine blazing a path for herself,

a sour lemon that causes your face to pucker up

and your body to recoil back in surprise,

the unpleasant aftertaste of bitter medicine;

imprinted in your memory long after you tasted it,

floating back up your throat and clogging it.

 

Without filters I can

take all of the stereotypes trying to constrain me

and shatter them into stardust.

The roles are reversed and I’m not the one

that is fragile

I’m not the one to be broken.

 

I didn’t know you were this sassy,

they would say, mouths open in surprise,

as if it were a bad thing.

as if it were a crime that I am not afraid to stand up for myself

even if I get knocked down,

knobbly knees and trembly breaths.

 

Why are we so afraid of the truth?

 

I am tired of tiptoeing around eggshells

Let us all break free of our shells, instead.

Words should not be wasted on false pleasantries.

The rawness of what we actually think should be welcomed,

inherently valuable in their natural state,

covered in dirt and razor sharp

like diamonds.

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