You need tho cut out all of this clutzy shiznit. Do you know how hard it is to do daily activities with an arm brace? Of course you do. And yet you keep falling down. In public. And try to catch yourself.
We’re all a bunch of socks. A bunch of grey socks. I know which one I am, but can you see me? Do you know the exact sock that is me? Of course not, I’m a sock among many. Sometimes I’m used. But it could have been the sock next to me and it wouldn’t make a difference. Not to you, at least.
One day you’ll notice, you have less socks than you used to. You won’t notice which ones are missing; it won’t even occur to you to try and find out. And I will be long gone. Lost to you, lost to the world, lost to myself.
And you? You won’t even notice. You’ll just pick up another sock and replace me. After all, you never promised yourself to one sock.
I had this dream about the battle of Hogwarts, except it wasn’t Hogwarts. It was my school, but a lot shittier than it already is. Also, people were driving invisible (imaginary?) cars.
The weird part though, is that when that dream was done, I dreamt I was watching a show called “Redeemed Death Eaters: Where They Are Today.” And I mean, it was a pretty legit show. One became an artist and sang about redemption and stuff. And another said that after the war, she curled up on her bed with her favorite doll and hasn’t left it since.
It’s like she’s not an actual person, but a physical projection of who conservative dads think their daughters, and by extension everyone their daughters know, are when they’re not around. She wants to hold hands with boys and kiss them, but never go further. Unfortunately for poor her, the boys cast her aside for those mean old sluts (Because, as we all know, there are no guys who are okay with a non-sexual relationship. That would be ridiculous, because everyone knows the wang is directly wired into the brain). Additionally, despite her sweatshirt signed by dozens of friends, her loving family, her mountains of privilege, and her angelic (read: Nordic) beauty, her life is completely worthless unless a boy deems her worthy.
All those implications that come with Taylor Swift just send ooks up my spine, mostly because when I ask people what’s to like about her, they say it’s just because she’s “cute,” and that she speaks for “real teen girls” (read: nerdy virgins, because, I guess to them, teen girls who think about sex are “fake teen girls”). I’m not saying there aren’t girls like the ones she describes in her songs out there, and I’m glad they have someone to listen to with whom they can identify. However, to say that she represents “real teen girls” is insulting to the vast majority of teen girls who are NOT.
There’s also the whole Romeo and Juliet thing, with a splash of Scarlet Letter thrown in there. If I ever meet her, I have every intention of making her cry because of that song.
By the way, if you’re going to leave hate in my ask, at least have the decency to show me your name. Anger will not be taken seriously if you’re hiding behind the anon button.