I Know Girls
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2014-03-12 @ 22:44:00
2014-03-12 @ 22:44:00
Mary Lambert. Vilket geni. Det här är en av de mest vackra låtar jag har hört. Den är äkta, har ett budskap och påminner tjejer om att de är värda någonting. Tilda visade mig studioversionen av den här låten för länge sedan men stötte på denna nyss och jag nästan grät. Så jävla modig och fin tjej. Vackert skriven låt. Tycker att ALLA tjejer ska lyssa på den här låten. Hur man än mår.
I know girls who are trying to fit into the social norm like squeezing into last year's prom dress. I know girls who are low rise, mac eyeshadow, and binge drinking. I know girls that wonder if they're disaster and sexy enough to fit in. I know girls who are fleeing bombs from the mosques of their skin, playing russian roulette with death; it's never easy to accept, that our bodies are fallible and flawed. But when do we draw the line? When the knife hits the skin? Isn't it the same thing as purging, because we're so obsessed with death. Some women just have more guts than others. The funny thing is women like us don't shoot, we swallow pills, still wanting to be beautiful at the morgue. Still proceeding to put on make-up, still hoping that the mortician finds us sexy and attractive. We might as well be buried with our shoes, and handbags and scarves, girls. We flirt with death everytime we etch a new tally mark into our skin. I know how to split my wrists reveal a battlefield too. But the time has come for us to reclaim our bodies. Our bodies deserve more than to be war-torn and collateral. Offering this as a pathetic means to say "I only know how to exist when I'm wanted". Girls like us are hardly ever wanted you know. We're used up, and sad and drunk and perpetually waiting by the phone for someone to pick up and tell us that we did good. We did good. (I know I am, I said I am, I know I am because I said I am, I know I am because I said I am, my body is home, my body is home). Try this: Take your hands over your bumpy lovebody naked, and remember the first time you touched someone with the sole purpose of learning all of them. Touched them because the light was pretty on them, and the dust in the sunlight danced the way your heart did. Touch yourself with a purpose. Your body is the most beautiful royal. Fathers and uncles are not claiming your knife anymore, are not your razor, no. Put the sharpness back. Lay your hands flat and feel the surface of scarred skin. I once touched a tree with charred limbs, the stump was still breathing but the tops were just ashy remains. I wonder what it's like to come back from that, because sometimes I feel a forest fire erupting from my wrists and the smoke signals sent out are the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Love your body the way your mother loved your baby feet, and brother, arm wrapping shoulders. And remember this is important. You are worth more than who you attract, you are worth more than a waistline, you are worth more than beer bottles displayed like drunken art effect, you are worth more than any naked body could proclaim in the shadows, more than a man's whim, or your father's mistake. You are no less valuable as a size 16, than a size 4, you are no less valuable as a 32a than a 36c. Your sexiness is defined by concentric circles within your wood. It is wisdom. You are a tree stump with leaves sprouting out: Reborn.
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