Sometimes,I look in my bag for tissue. More often than not,it's not there. Then I wonder to myself if I'm truly a girl. And then it worries me that regardless of my active and consistent rebellion against all things stereotypical and superficial,sometimes the worm of conformism and socialization still manages to creep into my skull. It's evil. I hate it.
What is this world that we choose to define ourselves by? What are these rules so ingrained in us that force us to be what we never wanted to be? And why does it take so much effort to go against the grain?
I cannot pick my battles properly. I can never tell which ones are worth it and which ones are not. My inner strength is wavery-that's not a word,don't use that-at best. Wavery passive-aggressive types don't really make the best heroes.
But it is my fight. And this is why people try so hard to 'find themselves' - so they know what they're fighting for. It is my life,my world. It is,my choice. I can choose to strain after the ideal which I may or may not ever be able to attain,that freedom to fly. That's the thing that ravens and writing desks have in common...they both fly. Fly I will. My spirit,my soul...will fly.
That worm. That bulbous,despicable creature...it exists for a reason. Perhaps contrast. Perhaps to show us what to fight against. Perhaps...because it must. But it does. And worms...turn into butterflies. (so to speak) So they can't be all bad...right?
I'll get by. I will survive. I will not cry. Much.
In other news,I cut my hair.